The Messenger
by Wynter S. Komen
Summary: Alfie Solomons is slowly regaining control and power in London, now that he has teamed up with Tommy Shelby. But when a beautiful stranger comes to deliver a gruesome message from Darby Sabini, Alfie finds himself in an unexpected dilemma - to kill or not to kill the messenger.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: As many of you know, Tom Hardy is currently on season 2 of Peaky Blinders. Unfortunately, we don't get this here in the States, but my lovely Nik sent me a short clip of one of his scenes. And those few minutes inspired a short story that is flowing like I don't know what. This is going to be short, violent, and sexy...just the way we likes it. Please read and review, darlings. MWAH.**

**Chapter 1**

Alfie Solomons was not a man who was afraid of hard work. He'd worked very hard as a young child in the textile factories growing up, trying to provide a little extra for his mother and his siblings. His father had been killed when Alfie had just been a wee boy of two, and he had no memory of the man. If it weren't for the photograph that Mother had kept in her locket, Alfie would have had no idea what the man even looked like.

He'd worked for many years, for many long hours, and went to school when he was able, which wasn't very often. As a result he knew nothing beyond basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, but that was fine. Alfie had grown into a keen, sharp, intelligent man anyway, and bugger all the books in the world. They'd taught him nothing of the sort of smarts that really mattered. He had learned everything he needed to know from the streets.

Of course, going to war in 1915 had certainly only added to his breadth of knowledge where staying alive was concerned. War was a bloody, miserable business; there was nothing glamorous or easy about fighting in cold, muddy trenches with another bastard who wanted to stay alive just as much as he did. He'd never forget about the Italian man he'd encountered in the trenches during the final year of the war. That had been a bloody duel, one that had been strangely silent – the silence was what Alfie remembered the most about that fight, not winning it or the method he'd used to win it – and full of desperation. He'd recounted it to Tommy Shelby with a bit more bluster and swagger than was accurate. True, slamming a nail up a man's nostril into his brain cavity _was_ pretty "fucking Biblical", as he'd stated to Tommy. But at the time it had been an act borne of desperation to stay alive, not one to create fond memories upon which to look back and laugh.

He shook his head quickly, finding his thoughts wandering far away from the kitchen inside his bakery in which he stood, kneading a hearty loaf of white bread. He was covered in flour up to his elbows and it caked on the front of his apron like powder on a prostitute's face. There was even a bit of flour sprinkled in his beard.

Though his bakery was a true, operating bakery, it was merely a front for his real operation – rum. The still was set up in the back of the bakery and he made both white and dark rum. He enjoyed it, and thought that his product was one of the finest available in London. He could pretty easily tell his bread customers from his rum customers; for one, he had regulars of both. But if he had new customers, he could tell quite easily who was here for what. The women, the children – they came for his warm, crusty brown and white loaves, fresh from the oven, wrapped with paper and tied with twine. Sometimes even men came for bread. But there were others, others with knowing faces and a glimmer in their eye, and they meant something entirely different when they asked for some of his finest brown or white.

He served them all – middle class, poor. The well-off and the outright posh never came here, of course, not even for the rum – that he had delivered to them, and for a pretty penny – but most others did. He was easy-going with his clients, pleasant even, and he toiled tirelessly day and night between baking and distilling.

He liked hard work, because it brought money. And he liked money very, very much.

It was only his love for money that had made him reluctantly join up with that Irish gypsy, Tommy Shelby. At first, Alfie had outright refused. Why should he work together with anyone? He was Alfie Solomons, after all, a self-made man, and he needed help from no one. The boy – though he was the leader of a respected gang, he was still a boy in Alfie's eyes – had been insulting when he made his offer of men and guns and police protection. It was what had made Alfie point a gun at him, and follow up the physical threat of violence with a veiled one, just to make sure the chap knew he meant business.

But following his initial annoyance, Alfie had forced himself to stop and think. It was true that only a fraction of his income came from booze, because his sellers were being chased off the street by cops – cops that sod Darby Sabini held in his back pocket. It was true that his money from protection was practically nothing these days, because his "protection" kept getting hauled off to jail, again by said Sabini-paid cops. He was losing money, he was losing the street-gang war, and he was getting rather tired of it.

Perhaps the gypsy boy had been onto something, after all.

Well, results spoke for themselves. Alfie had seen his profit margin increasing these past several weeks, and now he and the men that Tommy had given him were striking back at the oppression, at the enemy. Rum sales were back up, protection money was increasing. People trusted his protection once more, because there were actually men around to do some protecting.

He had seen neither hide nor hair of Darby Sabini out on the streets lately, but he knew that the man was getting nervous. And he should be; when the time was right, Alfie had every intention of hitting the man hard. As soon as that wop-Englishman turned his back, Alfie would put a knife into it.

The thought made him smile.

"Boss, it's 'bout time to close, ain't it?"

Alfie looked up from where he was covering his kneaded loaf and setting it aside to rise. He glanced at the clock and saw that the hour of lunchtime – the hour of closing – was indeed upon them. He nodded to the counter boy.

"Go on," he said. "Lock the door. Flip the sign. Wash your 'ands."

As the boy went to secure the door Alfie untied his apron and washed his hands clean at the sink. He dried them, wondering what the lads had cooked up today, and then swiped the flour out of his beard. He hooked his thumbs through his suspenders and went whistling down the hall, nodding to some of his men. They found him a sight more cheerful these days, now that they were making money again. It pleased him, that. Making money.

"What 'ave we today, lads?" he called out, his deep voice rumbling. He reached out to smack one of his men on the back, eyeing the table set with dishes and flatware.

"Boiled chicken and potatoes," a York man replied from the stove. "Fine bread, of course. Beans."

"That'll do," Alfie said with an approving nod, sitting down at his place at the head of the table. "Thanks, Will."

They were halfway through the meal, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, when the bell at the front door rang. A customer.

Alfie glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Was the bloody "Closed" sign on the door not enough indication that they weren't open for business? The counter boy gave him a questioning look, starting to rise from his chair. Alfie shook his head at him.

"Ignore it," he said. "Eat your food." He resumed doing the same. The customer could wait thirty more bloody minutes while the men took their meal.

When the bell insistently rang again a few moments later, Alfie dropped his fork in annoyance. He looked at the boy. "Go on and see who it is," he said bitingly, thinking that it had better be a liquor sale. "Tell 'em it better be urgent as we don't appreciate bein' interrupted at mealtime."

"You deserve a break, too, boss," one of his men said from further down the table. "Hardest workin' bloke here, you are."

Alfie acknowledged the praise with a nod of his head and held up a hand. "It's all right, Bob. Business never sleeps, eh?"

"Oi," he heard from behind him, urgently. Alfie turned around and saw the counter boy leaning around the corner, something like confusion and concern on his face. "Mr. Alfie. It's – it's some lady 'ere to see ya –"

"I can find my own way, thank you," a frosty female voice said. It was posher than the slums of London but not so posh as to be of someone well-off. Perhaps a maid from a nice household, he thought, rising to his feet.

The woman that came around the corner was certainly not a maid, at least not one from a fancy posh house by the look of her dress. It wasn't that she was unclean or unkempt – she clearly kept herself very tidy – but her clothes looked far too fashionable to be worn by a servant. Beneath a pale yellow wool coat she wore a pale pink silk blouse, embroidered intricately, a heavy beaded waist-belt, and a very slim gray skirt. Her feet were covered in black leather ankle boots that were so shiny, Alfie was willing to bet they were brand-new.

His eyes traveled slowly up her body to her face, where large gray eyes framed by thick black lashes peered at him beneath the brim of black cloche hat. Silky dark hair was twisted into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were rosy pink on pale skin that was tinged with an olive hue. Alfie thought she was quite fetching.

His eyes next fastened on her lips – soft pillowy things that appealed to him immensely – as they parted to speak.

"Are you Alfie Solomons?"

Her voice was low with a sweet tone to it, perhaps a little raspy. It was also a little snobbish, and full of the same sort of swagger that filled him. He leaned against the table, noting that the room had gone silent with all eyes on the pretty new stranger.

He folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "Depends on who's askin', love," he replied evenly, his eyes scanning her face. Damn comely, she was.

"Obviously, I'm asking," she replied snippily. "I work for Mr. Sabini. He's asked me to deliver you a package."

Alfie made a show of letting his eyes slip down her frame again in as insulting and undressing a manner as he could manage, which was quite a bit considering it was _him_, and nodded at her empty hands.

"What package might that be, darling?" he drawled, unable to keep some cheek off the word "package". "I don't see nothin' but your pretty, pretty face and your pretty, pretty clothes."

She glanced at the counter boy and idly waved a small, black-gloved hand toward him. For the first time since she'd walked in and commanded the attention of the room, Alfie noticed that the boy held a large box wrapped in butcher's paper and tied with string between his hands.

"It's 'eavy," he complained.

Alfie eyed the box, then glanced over his shoulder. "Oi. Mates. Clear off, yeah? Harry and Jim – you two stay behind."

Harry and Jim were two of his most reliable men, and since the package and the woman were sent by or belonged to Mr. Sabini, he didn't trust either one. He reached out and took the woman by the arm, feeling her stiffen immediately beneath her heavy coat. He smiled into her face, knowing it was a bit of a nasty smile.

"Please," he said, falsely saccharine. "'Ave a seat. You're my guest, ain't ya? Care for a drink?"

"No," the woman said icily.

"No?" He shrugged, full of mock-regret, and pulled out a chair and thrust her down unceremoniously into it. Then he pointed at the table, looking at the counter boy. "Set it down and then you clear off as well."

"Aw, c'mon, Mr. Solomons," the boy whined. "Why can't I stay? Why must I always leave?"

"When I want your presence, I'll ask ya for it," Alfie replied sternly. "Now go. And shut the door behind ya."

When the sullen boy was gone and the door was shut once more, Alfie turned back to the package on the table. The woman had crossed her legs and was putting forth a very admirable effort at not looking nervous, but he could see it. Hell, he could smell it.

He approached the edge of the table, and began deliberately untying the string and carefully pulling the wrapping paper open. Beneath the butcher's paper was a wooden box. Alfie frowned and pulled out his switchblade, flicking it open with a quick, sharp snap. He took a brief moment to enjoy the way the woman's gray eyes went wide for an instant before she lifted her chin haughtily and glanced away.

"Spirited one, ain't ya," he commented, wedging the tip of the blade beneath the lid of the box. "Always liked that in a lady."

"What you fancy in a lady interests me not at all," she said, still refusing to meet his gaze. "Now, if you would be so kind as to open the package so I can be on my way, that would be smashing."

Alfie smirked a little to himself and finally popped the lid open. It sprang upward like a jack-in-the-box and he stared down at the contents inside the box, momentarily stunned.

Nestled among the mounds of white cheesecloth wadded at the bottom of the box, stained red, was the head of Niles Jameson, one of the policemen that Tommy Shelby had so thoughtfully given over to him, plucked naughtily from Sabini's back pocket. Niles had been a favorite of Alfie's, because the man was positively without scruples and did anything Alfie told him to do. They got on well enough, the chap was a funny sort, and he had been instrumental in helping Alfie take back what was his.

And now he was dead.

Fury rose in his chest but Alfie fought it down. He looked up, fixing his gaze on the woman, who was now staring uncertainly at him, her large eyes going wider. He stroked his beard thoughtfully as he studied her.

"Might as well take off your 'at and coat, love," he said finally, his voice dangerously low and quiet. "Looks like you ain't goin' nowhere."

* * *

><p>Lillian Sybil Hammersley was, and had been, many things throughout her young life. Some of them she was proud of, others, less so. But one thing she had never been, under any circumstances, was a coward.<p>

From her chair, she sat staring up at the man, the Jew baker, of whom everyone from the streets seemed to be frightened as of late. Word on the street was that he had very recently joined forces with Tommy Shelby's gang, the Peaky Blinders, and now had Shelby's men, weapons, and paid policemen securely behind him as he took control of London and continued to wage a brutal war against her boss, Darby Sabini.

The tale of how she had come to find employ with such a man as Mr. Sabini was a convoluted one, to be sure; one borne from necessity and, frankly, desperation. She wasn't like the other girls he employed, and he treated her specially, almost deferentially, with respect, as if she were a man herself. That had unfortunately changed as of recent, which was why he had sent her on this ridiculous, insulting errand that had now put her into what was rapidly becoming quite the pickle.

She didn't know what was in the package she'd been instructed to deliver to Alfie Solomons. She didn't ask questions; she did what she was told and then she got her money and went about her business until her next task. She had heard of Alfie Solomons, but she hadn't been impressed by what she'd heard. She'd been around dangerous men all her life, and Darby Sabini was one of the worst. She could and did handle Sabini, and she knew she could handle anyone else like him, not the least of which some Jewish bootlegger.

Lillie hadn't expected Alfie Solomons to be so young. Of course, Tommy Shelby had a rep for being the "boy gang leader" due to his extremely youthful and borderline pretty face, but most of the other gangs' leaders were older. Sabini was coasting toward fifty years of age himself. Alfie Solomons couldn't be a day over thirty-five, at the very outside. He wasn't very tall either, but his build was solid and muscular, and the way he squared his broad shoulders, coupled with the cold gleam in his pewter eyes, made him seem far taller than he really was and very imposing. He was dressed in fashion as befit a baker – simple shirt, black pants, black vest. She was sure that before the mealtime she'd interrupted he'd had on a flour-covered apron, since it was said he did a majority of the baking himself. There was even a little bit of flour in his ginger-colored beard, which was a little bushy but strangely neat and tidy. He was actually rather handsome, or he would have been, had he not been looking down at her with that malevolent gleam in his eye. She held his gaze for what felt like an eternity, watching him as he watched her, one large hand stroking at his beard.

She immediately felt her hackles rise with his next words.

"Might as well take off your 'at and coat, love," he said, his voice deep and gravelly and sending chills down her spine. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

Lesser men would probably have been reduced to a quivering pile on the floor at his words and the ominous sound of his voice, but Lillie frowned at him hard enough to give herself a headache. She hadn't liked the way he had spoken to or looked at her earlier, and now he had the audacity to threaten her.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir," she replied coolly. "I have other appointments today I will shortly be late for. I don't have time to subject myself to your foolishness any longer. Good day."

She rose to her feet, lifting her chin, and barely caught the quick move of his hand as he gestured to one of the two men standing behind her. Instantly she felt a hand on her shoulder, shoving her roughly back down into the seat. She landed with a little grunt and stared up at Solomons furiously.

He was approaching her now, his thumbs hooked into his suspenders, his pewter eyes intense and unwavering. She felt her heart begin to pound as he leaned down in front of her, but she set her jaw, refusing to look away. He braced his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned into her face, causing her to lean back away from him. He pushed the chair backward so that the front legs left the floor and Lillie jerked instinctively, afraid he was going to topple her over. He didn't.

"What I said was," he said very quietly, not looking away from her eyes. "You ain't goin' nowhere. An' I meant that, love."

"You can't keep me here," she replied, hating the way her voice came out in a whisper.

His eyes moved all over her face, landing for a moment on her mouth, before returning to her eyes. "You're on my turf now, love. And I can do whatever I damn well please with you. D'you know what's in that box?"

Lillie slowly shook her head.

"No? Your boss, he don't let you in on what he asks you to deliver when he sends you out on these little errands?"

"No," Lillie replied through clenched teeth.

His beard shifted, moving upward on one side, and she knew there was a smirk on his lips. "I find that very 'ard to b'lieve, darling. Very 'ard, indeed."

"I don't care what you believe," she hissed. "Get out of my face and turn me loose."

He smiled wider, his eyes crinkling with amusement at the corners, and backed away from her, letting the chair drop back to the floor abruptly. She gripped the arms to keep from falling forward out of it.

"Boys," he said to his men, but still staring at Lillie. "Send a telegram to Mr. Sabini. Let 'im know I received his package and I'm less than pleased with its contents. Tell 'im I'm holding onto his little messenger until he can find a way to make me feel better about all of this. Somewhere to the tune of…a hundred thousand pounds."

He said the last part so casually, almost flippantly, but Lillie gasped and stared up at him. He was going to _ransom_ her? And for one hundred _thousand pounds_? He may as well have said a million for all the good it was going to do either one of them. She was as good as dead. There was no way she was worth that much to Sabini, even if he could somehow come up with that sum, especially not after she had stoked his temper so badly a few days ago.

Solomons' beard twitched again as he smiled down at her. "What d'ya think, love? Are you worth that to your boss?"

Lillie just glared up at him.

"Oh, and include in the telegram," he added lightly, "that he has until nine o'clock tomorrow morning to deliver. Or else drastic measures will 'ave to be taken." He leaned down in her face again to speak quietly to her. "And it will be _your _'ead, love, that I'll be sendin' back in a box."

Lillie spat in his face.

He hardly batted an eye as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and lightly wiped his face. "You get that one for free," he said cheerfully. "Next time, I'm takin' the payment outta your sweet, pretty flesh."

He held her gaze for a long moment and she refused to look away. Suddenly his hands closed around her elbows and he yanked her to her feet, spinning her around so that her back was to his front. His left arm was like a vise as it snaked through her left arm, pinning it behind her back, and his right forearm tightened over her throat.

"Take the box out back and burn it," he instructed his men, as one of them hurried to open the door for him. He began steering her down a dank back hallway, and Lillie felt real fear claw at her throat.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, trying in vain to squirm against him. His body felt completely solid behind hers and his strength was overpowering, though Lillie wagered that he wasn't even exerting a fraction of it at the moment. Strangely enough though, his grips on her were only tight enough to keep her in place, not tight enough to cause her pain.

"Takin' you somewhere I can keep an eye on you all night," he said, his deep voice rumbling quietly into her ear. "I ain't lettin' my precious ransom outta my sight for one second."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Whoa! I'm so glad you guys liked this! Muse is happy and when she's happy...we're all happy... **

**This one is a bit short (for me) but the stopping place felt right. We begin our game of cat and mouse...with a little sexual tension on the side. Enjoy :-) xoxo**

**Chapter 2**

Alfie escorted his new guest down the hallway toward his office. She felt like a little bird in his arms, small, delicate. He could also feel her heart racing as it thumped against her sternum, beating a faint tattoo against his arm as he held her. It amused him.

He unlocked the door to his office and thrust her inside without much decorum. As she was trying to regain her balance he turned, whistling, and locked the door behind them. He was both surprised and unsurprised when he suddenly sensed movement behind him and whirled around, just in time to catch her wrist as she drove her fist down toward him. In her hand was a slim, ivory-handled switchblade and she was holding it like she knew what to do with it.

He grabbed her wrist and twisted her one way and his body the other way, and then her back was to his chest again, her arm with the hand holding the blade held out away from them at a safe distance. His left arm curled around her neck and he tightened down on her with a great deal more pressure than he had while leading her down the hall.

"What's this?" he murmured almost lovingly in her ear, feeling her arm jerk uselessly inside his iron grip. "What's all this, eh? What you tryin' to do 'ere, lovie? You tryin' to cut me, eh?"

He felt her other hand claw at the arm about her throat, making desperate grunting noises. He tore the blade from her hand and shoved her away, toward his desk. She whirled around as she hit it, the momentum driving her backward on top of it a little.

He tsked at her, pointing the blade at her. "You're a naughty little bird, eh? But a spirited thing. I called that quality earlier, didn't I? Didn't expect you to try and stab me, though. Is that really necessary? I've not harmed one pretty dark hair on your 'ead, 'ave I?"

She merely stared at him warily. He stared back, and then took pleasure in her startled gasp when, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the blade flying past her ear into the bookshelf behind the desk. He folded his arms over his chest.

"If we are to get on at all, darling, you're going to 'ave to behave better than that," he chided her. "Otherwise I'll say fuck the ransom and send your 'ead back now."

"We both know that ransom is ridiculous," she said a in a low voice. "You should know better than anyone how the War ruined this economy. The average wage for one week's work is less than a pound and a half. And you've asked for a _hundred thousand_ pounds? That number doesn't even exist."

"Mr. Sabini has, as I'm sure you know, darling, plenty of money," Alfie replied cheerily. "He may surprise us both. You had better hope he does. Now. I'll be right proper gent, won't I? May I 'ave your 'at and coat, missus?" He made her a little bow and held his arm out dotingly.

"You may bugger yourself and go to hell," she snapped.

Alfie tsked again, and approached her slowly. She didn't cower on the desk but he saw the way her knuckles went white as they clutched the edge. He stood before her.

"Stand up," he ordered her softly. She only sneered at him, so he hoisted her onto her feet roughly and spun her around, shoving her forward until she was bracing her hands on the top of the desk. He paused for a moment, considering their position with new interest. She looked back at him over her shoulder, and beneath her heavy coat he felt she was trembling.

"Get on with it," she said through clenched teeth. "Whatever it is you mean to do to me."

He gave her half a charming smile and then yanked her coat off her shoulders. She gasped again as the heavy garment left her, turning around as if to protect her backside from him. Then he reached up and pulled her hat off her head in a strangely intimate way. He studied her, hatless. In the dim light of his office her hair looked almost black, but the glow of the lamp gave it a reddish hue. She was quite lovely.

"Your 'at and coat, _madame_," he said mockingly, and then walked to the coat rack by his door and hung them up negligently. "Would you like that drink now, love?" He reached for the bottle of rum he kept on small table nearby, his hand hovering over it.

"I want nothing from you," she snapped.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He swaggered back toward the door, putting his back to it and leaning against it, again folding his arms and studying his new guest across his office. His eyes traveled slowly from the top of her dark head, to her shoulders, to her breasts – looking most fetching in that blouse – to her small waist and the curves of her hips. He was willing to bet she had a lovely pair of gams beneath that skirt, not to mention bum.

"You," he said, "are quite lovely. 'As anyone ever told you that?" He snapped his fingers. "'Course not. You're one of Sabini's whores. I understand he doesn't make a habit of paying his whores compliments."

Her large gray eyes narrowed to icy slits and Alfie suppressed a shudder of delight at the cold, silent fury in her eyes. After a long pause she spoke. "I may work for Mr. Sabini, yes, but make no mistake – I am no whore."

Alfie tilted his head. "No? You must be his – what is that word? – his _paramour_, then. Am I right, Lovely?"

She averted his gaze and he chuckled, clapping his hands. "A-ha! So I was right. You are Mr. Sabini's lover. If that's true, darling, then why in 'ell would he send you to me?" He pointed at his chest. "Don't you know who I am, love?"

"No," she said coolly, "and I don't care."

Alfie couldn't help another grin. "Your lover Sabini knows who I am. And knowing that, and sending you to me anyway, tells me he don't think as 'ighly of you as you may think."

She looked at him briefly, looked away, and said nothing. Alfie chuckled. "You're a piece of work, you are. Come now, love. Tell me your name."

"No," she replied.

"No? Well, that's an unfortunate name. Girl pretty as you? No it is, then. 'Ow long 'ave you been Sabini's bedwarmer, No?"

She stared at the floor, her jaw clenching.

Alfie pushed away from the door and hooked his thumbs through the armholes of his black vest and began to pace. "I can't say I'm at all surprised that tiny, sniveling little wop plucked you for his own. You're a beautiful woman anyway, but amidst those trolls?" He pretended to shudder, shooting a glance at her. She did not look amused, and that amused him. "Well, you've seen 'em. You know what I'm sayin', don't you?"

"What," she replied, "do you want with me?"

He paused in front of her, tilting his head critically, and smiling. "Now that is what they call a loaded question, love."

"I don't see where it is," she replied. "You've sent off your telegram to Mr. Sabini. You've made clear your plans if you don't receive that absurd sum of money you requested. I'm locked in this dungeon. Must you remain here and pester me with your presence?"

"Am I pesterin' you?" he asked, feigning regret. He placed a hand on his cheek. "Oh, dear. Perhaps I should take my leave then, eh, No?"

"Perhaps you should," she replied bitingly.

He smiled again and shook his head. "'Ow do you think I got to where I am?" he asked quietly.

She smirked at him. "By the charity of the Peaky Blinders, from what I hear."

In a flash he was right there, her face between the thumb and fingers of one hand, and he was squeezing hard enough to get her attention. He was so close to her, his nose brushed against hers as he stared into her eyes.

"Say that again, and I'll end my pleasantries 'ere with you," he said quietly. "And I'll also end your life. I never took charity from no one – do you understand?"

She swallowed and said nothing, since his hand was mostly covering her mouth as he gripped her face, but she nodded once. He returned the nod and released her, adding a little push as he did. Her hand went to her cheek and she glared at him. He turned slowly on his heel and sauntered back toward the door.

"As I was sayin'," he said calmly. "I didn't get to where I am now by bein' some lazy sod. Relyin' on others to do things for me. Expectin' that things will be as they should, just because they should. No, No, I got to where I am because I'm thorough. I'm detailed. I pay attention to everything. And right now, that means you." He smiled crookedly. "You might just be worth a hundred thousand pounds, No. You think I'd take my eyes off you for one second?" He leaned toward her, mock-conspiratorially. "And besides. These men 'ere in my employ, they've little respect for women. You're much safer with me. Otherwise they'd sniff you out like a bloodhound and behave like the filthy sodomites they are. You should thank you lucky stars you're 'ere with me and not all by yourself."

"You're a fine one to talk," his guest muttered. "I'm sure you're the only pure man here among these 'sodomites', isn't that right?"

"Not at all," Alfie replied cheerfully. "I'm one 'ell of a filthy bugger too, but I ain't no animal."

"I'm sure," she said sarcastically. "There's absolutely nothing about you that say 'rapist' at all."

"Rapist?" he repeated incredulously. "_Me,_ love?"

"You sound surprised," she said dryly. "Or are you unaccustomed to hearing the truth?"

It was all he could do to hold his temper in check as he approached her. Her eyes narrowed at him before a humorless smile spread over her comely full lips.

"That's what I thought," she said softly. "A man like you. A criminal, you are. All of you. None of you have any scruples or morals, and none of you are above taking a woman by force for your own sadistic pleasure." Then, she reached down and yanked her skirt above her knees. Alfie raised his eyebrows at her. She leaned back on the desk, bracing her weight on her hands behind her, and opened her thighs. He looked, naturally, and his eyes traveled slowly up the length of her legs – beautiful and shapely as he expected them to be. He saw silk stocking, garter, and white lace at the crux of her thighs. She was glaring at him.

"Go on," she said. "Do it. It's why you brought me back here, isn't it? Sealed me off like a prisoner? I don't like being toyed with, Mr. Solomons. Your intent is clear – so just get on with it and then let me alone."

She was absolutely charming. Alfie smiled slowly, and reached out, his fingers brushing one silken knee. Her entire body stiffened at his touch, but she was brave; she didn't look away, not even when his other hand landed on her other knee.

She only jumped when he very gently pushed her knees together, and tugged on the end of her skirt. "Flattered as I am by your willingness to just hand yourself over, darling," he said, "I'll tell you this. I may be a lot of things – a criminal, a bootlegger, a thief, a violent murdering bastard. But what I am not is a rapist, despite whatever you may think to the contrary. I've never been a man to find pleasure in a woman's misery, thus, I ain't ever in my life taken a woman by force. Do you want to know why, love?"

She gave him a dirty look. "I can't imagine it," she said sarcastically. "Why?"

He smiled wolfishly and leaned in, bracing his own hands on the desk, trapping her between him and the wooden surface. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes went wide, and she jumped a little again right against his body when he brought his mouth to her ear. His beard scraped against her tender skin and he could smell her expensive perfume – probably French – and the sweet, fresh scent that clung to her hair.

"I ain't ever needed to."

* * *

><p>Lillie despised him.<p>

She despised everything about him. She despised his manners – lack thereof, actually – she despised his arrogance. She despised his stupid deep voice and his low-bred accent. She despised his violent little bursts of temper and the way he seemed to have no problem putting his hands upon her during such moods. She despised his beard and his clothing and his dim, dank office that had but one way in and one way out and nowhere for her to go.

Most of all, she hated the way her body responded when he pressed against her, hated the way it felt like her skin heated up twenty scorching degrees. She hated the way that heavy scent that hung about him, the one that smelled of fine cigars and rum, made her feel light-headed. She hated the way that amused glint in his eye made her heart pound. And she especially hated how his stupid deep voice in her ear, speaking in its low-bred accent, made her entire body shiver uncontrollably, and made that area between her thighs, the one she had bared angrily and shamelessly to him a moment before, suddenly pulse for a brief instant.

He felt the shiver ripple through her, and chuckled softly in her ear, which made another tremor go through her, though she tried to squelch it by tightening every muscle in her body. He tsked with mock-concern, pulling his head back just slightly to look into her eyes. She decided she hated his large, stormy pewter eyes as well.

"Are you cold, darling?" he murmured, his lips barely three inches from hers. Up close, she could see that beneath the gingery strands his mouth was full and lush, and that gave her another shiver. "Well, I shall go and light us a fire then, eh? Can't 'ave my lovely little No freezing to death in the office. That'll make choppin' your 'ead off tomorrow less excitin' for the both of us."

His breath tickled her lips. She ignored the last part of his statement; she knew he was just trying to get a rise out of her and remind her that he still held all the power and control. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of allowing it to bother her.

"My name is not No," she said witheringly, subtly pulling her skirt down over her knees and feeling grateful as he finally moved away from her. She felt like she could breathe again.

He grinned charmingly and moved toward the fireplace, using the poker to shove some pieces of wood around. "Oh, no, No? Really? I'm positively shocked. _Shocked_, I say."

She glared at him. She may as well tell him her name; it wasn't as though she was winning anything by withholding it, and moreover, him calling her "No" was beginning to irritate her beyond tolerability.

"My name is Lillie," she said in a low voice, watching as he dropped a match onto the wood and it burst into a merry little fire.

He made a show of turning around very fast, eyes wide, one hand to his face. "Why – you don't say, love. _Lillie._ What a lovely name for a lovely girl. Suits you much better than No. I found that one to be a bit 'arsh."

Before she could move he feigned gallantry and scooped up her hand, bending over it, and pressing his lips to the back of it. She squirmed, trying in vain to pull away from his grip, trying to ignore how shockingly soft his lips felt pressing to her skin, and the way his beard tickled her hand.

His eyes twinkled knowingly up at her as he held on tight to her hand. When she gave up and stopped squirming, he gently released it, straightening. "'Ow about that drink now, Lillie-love?"

"No."

"Back to that again, are we then, darling?"

She watched as he sauntered around the desk, moving behind her, and she was off the desk in a flash, not trusting him behind her back. He looked at her and chuckled, and she folded her arms around her body as she stood next to the fireplace, which was now cheerily blazing.

"So jumpy, love," he chided, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle. He held it up. "It's whiskey. Rum, as I always say, is for fun and fucking, and we ain't doin' any of that, so whiskey it is. You sure you don't want a drop? It'll warm you from the inside."

There was something a little bit sexual in his voice when he said that, and Lillie frowned. "I said _no_."

He stroked his beard, tilting his head as he sized her up. Finally, he shrugged. "As you wish. Now, where'd I put that glass…"

He turned around and began rummaging through a cabinet, his back to her as he searched for a low tumbler in which to pour his whiskey. Something made Lillie turn her head and see the fireplace poker.

In a flash it was in her hand, and she stole up quickly behind him, bringing it up with the intention of thrusting it back down with all of her might. At the last moment, she saw his head snap up and catch sight of her in the reflection of the glass in the cabinet window, and he ducked again, dropping his glass to shatter on the floor as he reached for her.

Her blow glanced off his shoulder, hard enough to make him grunt in pain, and then he was on top of her, both wrists between his large hands, as he forced her down into his chair. His eyes were blazing.

"That's the second time you've tried to attack me, love," he said, his face red with fury but strangely at variance with his quiet voice. "I'm gettin' rather sick of it, now. I feel I've been quite 'ospitable to you, don't you? Things could be much worse for you, darling."

He had shifted her wrists to one hand and opened another drawer in his desk. "Don't fucking move," he threatened when she tried to squirm. Her eyes went wide as she saw him withdraw a set of iron shackles. He frowned at her and then clamped one bracelet around one wrist, yanked her over to a vertical steel pipe that connected floor to ceiling, wrapped her arms around that, and then shackled the other bracelet on. He pushed her down onto his chair again and pointed a large finger at her.

"You try any shit like that again, I'll kill you now," he warned. "You could have stayed 'ere comfortably but you keep acting like a perfect arse, so now you're gonna get treated like one."

Her eyes filled with angry tears as she glared at him. "I told you I didn't know what was in the box," she said furiously. "Why don't you just let me go?"

He drew in a breath through his nose, hooking his thumbs through the shoulder holes of his vest. "Because I hate your boss," he said simply. "And I expect to get paid for you. And if he don't pay, I'll be sendin' 'im back a message of my own." He shrugged negligently. "Sorry, love. Looks like you picked the wrong day to become a messenger." With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Lillie leaned her head onto her arm and began to weep.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This story is turning out to be a little longer than I initially anticipated...but still not going to be a full-length story! I'm just going to write until I say what I have to say. And that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. **

**Read it. Enjoy it. Then you know what to do - GIMME SOME! xoxo**

**Chapter 3**

Alfie stormed out of the office, feeling like he wanted to punch something and wishing it could be the fetching young lady who was currently shackled to a steel pipe in his dank office. He was annoyed that she had now tried to do away with him twice, and that despite his very gallant and respectable efforts to be, well, gallant and respectable, she still behaved like a child. A murderous child, he thought darkly. It was very annoying. His shoulder throbbed where she had managed to hit him with the poker, and that annoyed him as well.

A fucking woman, for Christ's sake. A bloody fucking woman had managed to rile his blood and his anger, and that annoyed him most of all.

He stalked into the kitchen to return to his loaf. He washed his hands and then overturned the bowl with the dough onto the floured countertop. Then he began to viciously knead the risen loaf, using a good deal more force than was really necessary to accomplish the task. When it was kneaded to his satisfaction and he found himself feeling a great deal calmer, he transferred the loaf to a baking pan and slid it into the oven.

Several hours and loaves later, he was washing his hands again and pondering the other items he needed to bake to restock his shelves for the following day when the bell over the door tinkled and admitted a customer. Alfie snapped his head up, inclined to be annoyed at the customer's timing and his own negligence, as it was five minutes until closing and he had forgotten to put the "Closed" sign out. Then he saw that it was a lady of about seventy years of age, wearing an ostentatious hat over her fine white hair, and he smiled wryly. It was one of his regulars, a Mrs. Beardsley, and she was not the sort of woman that any chap told "no".

Fortunately for her and perhaps for himself given that Mrs. Beardsley did not take kindly to cheek from a "youngster", Alfie was feeling considerably more sociable than he had been several hours ago. He fixed the woman with a wide smile.

"'Ello, missus," he called, coming around the counter to bend over the old lady's hand. "How are you this fine evening?"

She looked at him as though he had gone mad. "Are you blind, Mr. Solomons? It's freezing and pouring rain out there."

"So it is, but that doesn't mean it can't be a fine evening," he replied, amused. "What can I do for you today, Mrs. Beardsley?"

"I need two fresh white loaves and a brown loaf," she replied, and it was no question that she was referring to real bread and not his other off-the-menu items.

"Right away, ma'am," he said, moving behind the counter to wrap up her request. Mrs. Beardsley was head of the kitchen at a large manor just outside of London, and it would be far more convenient for her to patronize a bakery closer to the manor, or to bake bread herself, but Alfie took it as a compliment that she enjoyed his loaves so much that she would not only pay for bread in this awful economy but also would travel for it, too.

Alfie was ringing up her purchases when Harry came through the door. He had an urgent look on his face but that didn't stop him from being courteous. He tugged on the brim of his bowler and nodded at Mrs. Beardsley.

"Ma'am," he said, and she nodded back. He looked at Alfie. "Mr. Solomons, a word, if you please, sir."

"Of course, mate," Alfie replied calmly, handing Mrs. Beardsley her loaves and returning her wave as she walked out the door. He turned to put the money she'd paid for the bread in his cash register and then flipped the sign on the door. "Harry, you look a bit flustered, old boy. What seems to be the trouble?"

"Mr. Sabini received your telegram," he said evenly. "I ran into one of his men on the street. Said Sabini intends to pay you a visit later this evening, to negotiate terms for the release of the woman."

Alfie crowed in delighted humor. "Oh? Is that to suggest that wealthy businessman is having difficulties in coming up with my sum?"

"You demanded a hundred thousand pounds," Harry said flatly. "You might as well have asked for a million for all the good it's going to do you."

"Second time I've 'eard that today," Alfie said cheerfully. "I like to shoot for the sky, mate."

"This time the sky might be a bit out of reach, sir," Harry said dryly. "Anyway, it sounds like Sabini is quite upset that you took her, despite something about him and the woman having had a bad row a couple days ago and him being rather put out with her."

"I b'lieve they call that a 'lovers' quarrel', mate," Alfie said absently as he checked on his last loaf of bread in the oven. It was perfect; the crust was slightly golden brown and he knew it would be piping hot, white, and soft as cotton on the inside. "Since she's his lovely little bedwarmer."

"Lovers? No," Harry said, shaking his head. "No, I asked Sabini's man why the woman meant so much when he has three dozen other whores at his disposal. His man said that she is no whore, that she's special to him. So naturally I suggested the same, that she must be a lover, then. And he said no."

"Hm." Alfie removed the loaf from the oven and felt a flash of interest that immediately confused him. Why the bloody hell should he care if they were lovers or not? It would suit him better if they were; it would make her entirely more valuable to Sabini and thus more profitable for him.

He should not be feeling..._something_ that felt a lot like relief to hear that the lovely little bird was no bedfellow of that sniveling, weasely man.

Then he remembered that Harry had just informed him that Sabini was going to be calling this evening and decided he'd better focus on that, instead.

"Round up our boys," Alfie instructed Harry, using a large bread knife to slice up the warm loaf. "Why don't you also invite some of our new policemen friends to come over as well? I'm sure they will all enjoy the chance to meet their compatriot's murderer face to face."

Harry smiled grimly and nodded. "Yes, boss. Right away."

Alfie flicked his chin upward slightly. "Right. Off you go, then."

When Harry had gone, Alfie sighed through his nose, his fist curling around the knife. Sabini would be here tonight, then. Alfie only hoped the man would have his hair-trigger temper under control, lest Alfie be forced to unleash his own. He was actually quite surprised that Sabini was going to leave the relative safety of his home to come and speak to _him_, his enemy, about the woman. Face to face. Where Alfie could easily slit the man's throat in an instant and have his men take out Sabini's men in a heartbeat. Alfie planned on killing the man sooner or later, and for a moment wavered uncertainly as to whether or not he should just go ahead and do that tonight. But he found himself weighing the pros against the cons, and the pros did outweigh them, but the one con he could think of carried a very heavy fucking weight, and he didn't want a major bloodbath on his hands, not to mention the war that would inevitably fall on his head in the aftermath of a such a _coup de grace_. Besides, Alfie had to admit that he was rather curious to see what the man intended to say, the argument he intended to plead.

If they weren't lovers and they clearly weren't related, what was the point of going to such trouble for the woman? Alfie was very curious about this, indeed. He wondered how much Lillie knew of Sabini's operations, or about the men he would come with tonight. The sort of firepower they would have. He mused to himself; she might be very helpful to him at a moment like this – if only she would stop trying to murder him at every turn.

He looked at his warm, fresh slices of delicious baked bread. He knew that they would be quite tasty with a bit of smeared butter and jam, along with a refreshing spot of tea.

He wondered if a certain little bird would like to know that, as well.

* * *

><p>Lillie roused herself sometime later, feeling disoriented and sore and frightened. For a moment she didn't know where she was or what had happened.<p>

Then the feeling of iron around her wrists and the chill of a cold back room office quickly brought the memories back. She was a prisoner in the dungeon that was Alfie Solomons' office. And in the morning, when he did not receive the ridiculous sum of money he had demanded for her, he would kill her.

The fire had gone out

She tried to sit up straight. Her back, shoulders, arms, and wrists ached from hours of half-sitting, half-lying in an awkward position. Her face felt a little tight in places on her cheeks, as though her tears had dried to her skin there in salty streaks. She was hungry and thirsty and felt weak. She was freezing and unable to stop trembling. She was positively miserable.

_It would have been better if I'd just been killed and left in a ditch somewhere, _she thought in despair. _Or better yet – if Darby had never found me that night. If I had never gone with him. I could be back in France maybe – or maybe I'd still be at that whorehouse. Maybe I'd be dead right now anyway._

She couldn't say that thought wasn't appealing.

She jumped and gasped in surprise when she heard a key in the lock, her stomach going shaky and cold and her heart hammering. What time was it, after all? How long had she slept? Perhaps it was morning already. Perhaps Mr. Solomons had decided to end the charade and do away with her now.

The door opened very slowly. A moment later the looming shadow of her captor filled up the doorway, his hulking build seeming to take up the space of the entire room. She felt her stomach tighten again in fear – and then growl with terrible, empty hunger when she suddenly smelled the lovely, warm, mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread in a basket on the tray he was holding.

"Ello, lovely little bird," he said in that nice-nasty way of his, his voice very low and gruff. "My, it's dark in 'ere, ain't it?"

She hardly heard a word he said, her eyes glued to the dim shape of the tray as he moved past her toward the fireplace. Her mouth watered so much that she was afraid she needed to wipe her mouth – if she'd been able to move her hands, that is.

"Cold in 'ere, too," he went on, setting the tray down on the desk before moving to light another fire. "You must be cold, yeah?"

She didn't reply, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she stared at him. What was this? What was he doing? Had he brought her food and what appeared to be tea? Why? And why was he being so casual when the last time she'd seen him, he looked like he'd been ready to send her into the wall with his fist?

He got another cheery blaze going and Lillie immediately felt the warmth. She stretched her fingers out toward the flames, feeling the digits stiff and sore with cold. With her wrists shackled together she'd been unable to tuck them around herself for warmth. And with her coat off and nothing but her thin blouse on to shield her, she'd positively frozen.

She jumped when he suddenly crouched down in front of her, his face inches from her own. He stared into her eyes, and for a long moment neither of them spoke. Lillie just stared back at him, waiting.

He held up a warning finger. "I was gonna unshackle you," he said threateningly. "Now, listen. If you try any funny shit with me again, I will put you back in the shackles, tie you up with rope and shove you in a pitch dark two-by-two closet and leave you there _until_, d'you understand me?"

A shiver of terror or cold, she wasn't sure which, ripped through her at his words and she barely nodded.

He grabbed her by the face, but his touch was gentle. "I mean it. Don't fuck with me, yeah?"

She nodded miserably again, and he patted her cheek in a strangely loving way, his thumb sliding over lips before he dropped his hands. "That's right. Be a good little bird."

He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and reached for her wrists, keeping one wary eye on her face, as he unshackled her. He stayed crouched in front of her, watching, as she brought her freed wrists into her chest, rubbing the ache out of each one in turn.

"Your 'ands are like ice," he informed her quietly.

She glared at him, resisting the urge to spit in his face again. "What do you expect when you leave me in here for hours with no fire, and it's winter outside?"

He stared at her for a moment, his face blank, and then reached out and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet in response, then shoved her down into an armchair next to the fire. He reached into a cabinet on the wall and removed a wool blanket it, tossing it to her. She wanted to ball it up and throw it into the fire to show him what she thought of his charity, but instead she wrapped herself up in it, bringing it up to cover the lower half of her face, struggling for warmth. It smelled like him, she realized, involuntarily inhaling against the blanket again. It smelled of smoke and spice.

After a moment of watching her huddle beneath the blanket, leaning close to the fire, he spoke. "'Ow's that, now?" he asked. "Is that better?"

She glared at him over the edge of the blanket, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. "What does it matter to you? Is it customary to warm your victims up before you murder them?"

He only smiled in response, his thick beard shifting, and moved toward the desk, picking up the tray. Her eyes locked onto it again, and now that the fire was roaring and bright she could see the way it highlighted the crust on the bread, turning it a lovely golden brown, and she saw that there was a lump of soft butter on a small plate and a jar of jam. And a teapot, tea cup and saucer. The tea pot was steaming and the thought of something hot in her hands, warming her belly, almost brought tears to her eyes.

"You 'ungry, little bird?" he asked quietly, studying her.

She wanted to say no. She wanted to kick the tray out of his hands and send it all to the floor, and laugh at his fury when she did so. She wanted to tell him he could bugger his charity and that she'd rather starve.

She nodded.

He smiled. "Thought so." He pulled a small table from the corner and positioned it in front of her, and then set the tray down. "Brought you some nice, lovely, hot tea, I did. And some of my fresh baked bread. It's lovely with a bit of soft butter, a little raspberry jam."

She watched, feeling her pupils dilate, as he poured out a cup of tea for her. His hand hovered over a sugar bowl. "Care for sugar, love?" he asked, and she knew that he was mocking her. But she nodded silently.

He dropped a lump of sugar into her tea, his eyes never leaving her as he stirred it with a spoon and then smartly tapped off the excess liquid on the edge of the cup. He picked up the saucer it was sitting on and extended it to her.

She took it eagerly, gripping the saucer with one hand while the other held the blanket around her body. She heard the cup rattle unsteadily on the small plate because her hands were shaking, so she dropped the corner of the blanket to grip the cup and saucer more securely. She slurped most ungraciously at the hot, hot beverage, scorching her tongue as she did but not caring.

He _tsk_ed at her in mock reprove. "Thought a fine little bird like you 'ad better manners," he said, but she knew he was teasing. She finished her cup and said nothing as he refilled it and then reached for a slice of bread, slathering it first with butter and then with jam. She knew her eyes were huge over the rim of the cup she held in both hands, following every movement and flash of the knife, staring at the way the butter melted into the soft meat of the bread. A fancy five-course French meal could not have sated her more in that moment than that once piece of bread; she wanted it with every fiber in her being.

Solomons slowly extended it toward her. When she eagerly reached for it, he drew it up just outside of reach. "I'll feed you," he said quietly, "but only if you agree to some talk. I want to know more about you."

"Why?" she growled, frustrated, staring up at the bread he held tantalizingly over her head. "What does it matter to you?"

"You're my guest," he taunted, smiling meanly at her. "I like to know all about my guests." He lowered the slice to within reach, then hauled it back up again when she snatched at it. "You want this or not, love?"

"Yes," she said, and it came out as a weak, pleading whimper instead of the impatient cheek she intended.

"Then you agree to answer all of my questions? Anything I ask?"

_What does it matter anyway, _she thought tiredly, but said, "I suppose."

"You suppose? That's a bit too noncommittal for me, darling."

"Yes. Anything you ask," she said bitingly, and nearly wept when he silently placed the bread in her hand. He took a chair against the wall across from her, his face in the shadows, and sat quietly while she tore into the bread. She chewed voraciously, her eyes closing in extreme satisfaction. It was soft, the crust was crisp, and the flavors of the butter and jam soaked in and mingled with the flavor of the bread. The bread itself had a very faint sweet flavor to it, but was soft and delicious. _He is a fine baker, _she admitted to herself, finishing the slice in three bites.

"Would you like another?" he asked quietly from the shadows. She looked over at him. The fire highlighted the lower left side of his face down, but his eyes remained hidden in the shadows. She didn't like that she couldn't see his eyes. "Please, help yourself, love."

Cautiously she reached for another slice, almost moaning at the feel of the soft warmth between her cold fingers. She reached for the knife to spread on the butter. Though her hand was shaking, she managed it because the butter was soft and getting softer from being near the fire. The jam was harder to manage and she ended up dropping her knife.

"Little 'elp, love?" he asked softly and leaned forward. He picked up the knife and carefully spread jam on the bread for her and handed her slice. While she ravenously ate it, he buttered and jammed two more slices for her then returned to his chair, his face once more obscured in the shadows.

"You're eatin' like you ain't had a meal in weeks," he observed.

Normally Lillie would have been mortified at her lack of manners and the way she was eating so messily, but there was truth in his observation that made her both not care that he'd said that and also lower her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat up.

He didn't miss it. "When did you last eat, Lillie?"

She swallowed her enormous bite, thinking. "A few days ago."

Solomons went silent but Lillie could practically feel the rage radiating off him. "And why is that? What has prevented you from getting a meal for so fuckin' long?"

There was no point in trying to conceal anything from him now. Besides, she'd already promised to answer his questions in exchange for food. She picked up a third slice of bread. "Sabini."

"Hmm." She watched his hand travel from the armrest of the chair up toward his face and the hand got swallowed up by the shadows too. She assumed he was stroking his beard, as he seemed prone to doing. "What 'appened?"

Lillie sighed. "He became…upset with me. And then he punished me." She swallowed another bite of bread and washed it down with more tea. "He let me have water but no food."

"Why?" Solomons asked, his voice practically a growl. When she didn't respond, he sighed. "I'd hate to 'ave to remove your only means of sustenance. You promised. I've held up my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn. Anything I ask, remember?"

She glared down at her bread. "I angered him."

"That much is fucking clear. How?"

Lillie folded her arms. "You made a comment earlier about me supposedly being Mr. Sabini's lover. You were wrong. I am not, nor was I ever, his lover, paramour, bedfellow, bedwarmer – whatever clever name you came up with."

"Then what are you to him?" Solomons asked calmly.

Lillie hesitated. What, indeed? "An employee," she replied slowly. "An assistant of sorts. I ran errands for Mr. Sabini. I accompanied him as his guest to business dinners, parties, soirees."

"And what do you receive in turn for your…services?"

"A place to sleep," she said quietly. "A place to live. Pretty clothing. Food. Anything I wished."

Solomons folded his arms. "So you fetch and carry for Mr. Sabini and pose and preen as the beautiful lady on his arm, and in return he lavishes a rich lifestyle on ya? Sounds a little off, if you pardon me for sayin' so. Not to be presumptuous but, I am a man, darling. And I know men. And it sounds to me like your boss had other things in mind."

"I never believed it to be so," Lillie replied. "He had never…advanced upon me before. From the day he hired me until – until –"

"Until a few days ago," Solomons finished somewhat wryly. Lillie nodded, ashamed. "Ah. What happened?"

Lillie felt her face go crimson. "Mr. Solomons."

"Anything I ask," he said softly. "Tell me. What did 'e do?" When she hesitated still, he barked impatiently, "Speak up, then."

"He – he tried to kiss me," Lillie muttered, looking into the flames. "He said he was in love with me and wanted me to be with him. When I refused initially, he reminded me of all the things he had done for me, all the things he had given me. He said that I owed him, and that he didn't want money from me, but he wanted something more important. He wanted my heart, my soul, my – body."

"Ah," Solomons said softly.

"I refused him again when he placed his hands upon me. And then he flew into quite a temper. He slapped me and called me an ungrateful whore, and then ordered his men to remove all of the food from my apartment. He said that I could starve until I realized I needed to appreciate him for everything he had done, that I could starve like I was starving when he found me. He locked me inside the apartment and said that he would return when he felt calmer and that he had no idea when that would be."

"That was today, eh?" Solomons asked.

"Yes. He came to my door this morning with his men. Said he needed to have an errand run for him. That in order to prove my loyalty to him I needed to deliver a package to a 'friend' as he referred to you and that when I returned I would be allowed to eat. So naturally, I agreed. He told me to put on my prettiest clothing, to look as fetching as possible, and when I was ready he had me dropped off in front of your bakery. The driver was still there when I stepped inside. I suppose he's gone now."

"Long gone," Solomons said. "Well. So you've put Mr. Sabini into quite a snit, 'ave you?"

Lillie frowned. "I suppose. But that's his fault. I never gave him any indication that – that I wanted him."

"You ain't a virgin, are ya?"

Lillie's head snapped up. "Ex_cuse _me, Mr. Solomons?"

"I said, you ain't a virgin, are ya?" he repeated calmly, leaning forward.

"That's none of your business," she said frostily.

"Need I remind you of our agreement, love?" he said with a falsely saccharine smile. "Answer the question."

Lillie glared at him. "I was once married," she muttered finally. That was all he was going to get, and bugger him if it wasn't good enough.

"Ah. You'll have to tell me about that next in a moment." He seemed very amused. "I assume you made that admission as a means to answer my question, and I'll assume that answer is yes, though I've seen stranger things 'appen. I'm askin' not to be a fuckin' cad, darling, but to verify that you are in fact not innocent. And as a previously married woman who I presume has been bedded a fair number of times at least, and that charmin' way you offered yourself to me earlier, it stands to reason that you're aware of the way of men."

"Which way is that, Mr. Solomons?" she asked icily.

"We are a slave to that jewel, that precious, beautiful jewel, that every woman has got betwixt her thighs, love," he replied frankly, boldly eyeing her below the waist, though she was still wrapped in his blanket. "I don't know anything about your marriage or what your 'usband was like or what 'appened to him, but I'm sure you came to realize in short order just 'ow much he enjoyed finding and using that jewel. And knowing that, it can't 'ave been a surprise that Mr. Sabini would eventually try to take it for 'imself, as well. It's not as if you're some old, shriveled hag, love. You're young and beautiful and perhaps once you were considered well-bred. You must 'ave been like a glittering diamond there in front of his greedy little eyes, begging to be plucked. And can you blame 'im for tryin' to pluck you?"

"I never –" she began, outraged.

"You might never 'ave encouraged him but bein' so close to 'im, you had to have been a constant temptation." Solomons chuckled. "I feel rather sorry for the bastard, actually."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" Lillie said evenly. "My fault because I was born a woman and men are insufferable, lust-crazed animals?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Solomons said cheerfully. "Listen, love, I can't say I blame 'im for thinkin' what he thought and doin' what he did. Can't blame 'im at all. But, if it makes you feel any better, I don't agree with 'is mode of punishment."

"Oh, thank you," Lillie said sarcastically. "That means so very much, coming from the man who is planning to chop my head off in the morning."

"You never know," he said, and though she couldn't see his face she heard the smile in his voice. "Your boss might come through for you."

"Why, because you made such a reasonable ransom demand?" Lillie said bitingly.

She was shocked when Solomons threw his head back and laughed. "You are quite cheeky," he said with approval, pointing a finger at her. "It's a wonder you were ever married at all. Don't take you for the type to be bossed about by a man. And speakin' of, since we're on the topic and all – tell me about this marriage of yours."

"I wouldn't dream of boring you," she said coldly. "Or, for that matter, providing you with fodder to continue to mock me."

He slowly leaned forward in his chair, his face gradually coming out of the shadows. His eyes were focused sharply on her and there was no trace of mirth in his voice or on his face now.

"Sorry, love," he said quietly. "But I'm afraid I insist."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: My Muse likes this. And I do what Muse says. You wouldn't like her if she was angry...**

**Take a gander at this - we get Lillie's backstory and some one on one time. Read, enjoy, and leave me a review. Pease and fanks. MWAH. xoxo**

**Chapter 4**

Alfie waited patiently for her to speak, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands. It was clear that this was a topic Lillie did not care to broach with him, but he was unreceptive to that. The fact that she had once been married intrigued him beyond measure, and also knowing that Sabini had essentially sent her to her death out of spite and because of wounded pride intrigued him further.

"I was seventeen," she began in a low voice, staring into the flames. "A very proper, well-bred young woman. I was raised by my mother and my father until they died in a train accident when I was fifteen years old."

"You were born in England?" Alfie asked.

"No," she said. "I was born and raised in France."

"Ain't got no accent," Alfie observed.

"My parents were both English. They went to France for my father's trade shortly after they married and…they never left. They loved it there. I was born, their only child, and they stayed in France to raise me. I was born in Marseille. It's very warm there. Much warmer than England."

"What brought you back 'ere?"

"We would visit occasionally each year. My father's family resided here, so we would return on holiday to visit. I hated it here. I could never wait to return to the warmth of Marseille. It's on the Mediterranean coast. The ocean is there. The waters are warm and bright, clear blue and stretch as far as the eye can see. In the winter, it never drops below freezing and it gets very hot in the summer. I like the warmth. I hate the cold."

She stretched her hands toward the fire as she spoke, and Alfie noticed the way the flames highlighted her skin, almost until it shone. It was mesmerizing.

"This don't seem like the ideal place for you," he commented.

"It's not. But when my parents died in the railway accident, I was sent back here to live with my father's family. My grandmother was a very strict woman. She could be very, very cruel. I hated every day I spent with them. While I was here I was being groomed to wed into a nice family when I came of age. And one day I was introduced to the man I was to marry. His name was Gregory."

Alfie resisted the urge to sneer. "Gregory. Fine chap, I'm sure."

Lillie glanced over at him, her blue eyes shining. "Gregory was very kind. Very kind, indeed."

"Did you love 'im?"

Lillie dropped her eyes and shrugged. "I barely knew him. Within six months of meeting we were wed. During the time leading up until the wedding, we had chaperoned visits only, once or twice a week. We spoke of pleasant, genteel things as befit two people of our societal standing. I was desperate to leave my family, you see. My grandmother terrorized me. She once felt that I was gaining too much weight and wouldn't be able to fit into my wedding gown. So she withheld food from me for a week. On another occasion, early on in the engagement, she observed Gregory leaving our front porch one evening after a visit. He kissed my hand as he left, and she believed that I smiled wantonly, as though I were inviting him to do more with my eyes. She beat me with a broom handle so badly I couldn't walk the next day. Not in the face, of course," Lillie added darkly. "She couldn't mar my prettiness. But she beat my body. And I had hideous bruises that took weeks to heal."

"Sounds like a fright," Alfie murmured.

"She was. I yearned for kindness, for gentleness. I missed my parents terribly. For so many years, it was just the three of us. And I knew that they also expected me to marry one day, but they both taught me that love was as important as breeding. I always expected to marry a French boy. Well, anyway, I was to marry Gregory and as far as I was concerned the day couldn't arrive soon enough. We were finally wed shortly after my seventeenth birthday, and he took me away from my family."

"I'm sure you were relieved," Alfie said.

"Very much so."

"Were the two of you 'appy?"

Lillie hesitated before answering him. "As happy as we could be," she said finally. "Gregory was a good man. A very kind man. He treated me very well."

"But he was lackin' somethin'," Alfie said. "I can 'ear it in your voice. And you speak of him in past-tense. Does that mean dear old Greggy-boy is no longer with us?"

Lillie glared at him. "Don't speak of him that way. He was a better man than you could ever hope to be. And, yes. He is no longer with us." She propped her chin on her hand and looked back into the fire. "He was killed two years ago during the war."

"Ah. Along with a great many lads." Alfie studied her again for a moment, noting the way the flames highlighted the round shapes of her cheekbones and the curve of her chin. "So what was your perfect gentleman lackin'?"

Lillie looked at him. "What?"

"It don't take a scientist to figure out you weren't totally 'appy with the lad. He might 'ave treated you kindly but he didn't make you 'appy. So, tell me why not."

"He made me perfectly happy," Lillie replied, clearing her throat. "You must have misunderstood my words."

Alfie leaned forward in his chair. "Words is one thing, love, but they don't have nothin' to do with this. I can read you like a book." He smirked. "Was he not romantic enough for you? Didn't pay you any attention?"

"He was attentive," Lillie said, almost defensively.

"Romantic?" Alfie repeated, exaggerating each syllable of the word.

Lillie sighed in exasperation. "What of it? Who needs romance, anyway? Romance is for fools."

Alfie crowed triumphantly. "Ah. There it is. Old Greggy-boy wasn't a romantic, no? Didn't have no way with women?"

Lillie glared at him. "I'd wager he had a much better way with them than _you_."

"Yeah?" Alfie said quietly, getting up to drag his chair closer so he was directly across the small table from her. "Is that so? Did he make you scream his name every single night?"

Her mouth fell open, a mask of shock dropping over her delicate features. Alfie felt his body warm with delicious naughtiness. He had only known her a few hours, but getting a rise out of her was quickly becoming a most enjoyable pastime.

He bit his lip, his eyes traveling over her shocked face and down to her slender throat. "Did he make you rake your fingernails over his back? Did he make you explode with pleasure?"

Her mouth opened and closed several times. "M-Mr. Solomons," she stuttered, trying sound forceful. "You are out of bounds."

"Am I?" He traced his finger around the rim of her teacup, surveying the pile of crumbs on her plate. "I don't see where I am. I think I'm well within the bounds of our agreement. And you agreed to answer anything I ask, and now you're not. That would make _you_ the one out of bounds, love." His finger trailed across to the edge of the table and shoved it out of the way, and he drew his chair closer still until their knees were touching. He smiled when he felt her draw them out of the way.

He trailed his finger over the back of her hand that rested on the arm of her chair. "Don't make me insist, darling. I'm quite enjoyin' hearin' you talk. Now, back to the subject at hand. You weren't really 'appy with old Greggy-boy because – he couldn't satisfy you. Have you at least ever been decently kissed, darling?"

When she didn't answer his hand closed around her wrist, squeezing tight until she winced. "I'm waitin' for your answer, love. Though your silence is answer enough, and that just breaks me little 'eart. The pretty little bird ain't ever been properly snogged by a gent who knows what he's doin'."

"Why must you torment me?" she whispered.

"I ain't," he replied. "We're just talkin'. Ain't no one around to judge whether you're bein' a proper lady or not. I promise you, your grandma ain't around the corner waitin' to beat you bloody with a broom 'andle. I just want to know why you sound so lackluster when you speak of your dead 'usband, the one who took you away from your crazy old grandma. And I b'lieve I've hit the nail on the 'ead." He tapped her wrist with a finger and then let her hand go. "I've never been married but I do know women. And I know that a woman is a lot like a good loaf of bread. A good loaf of bread – like the one you just managed to eat half of – has to be nurtured. It has to be cultivated. It has to be handled with care – except when you're kneadin' it." He winked wolfishly at her. "A good loaf a bread requires a lot of attention. It's got to bake at the right temperature and for the right amount of time to be delicious." He slowly lifted himself out of his seat, leaning toward her. He brought his mouth to her ear.

"A secret, love," he murmured, his lips grazing her soft skin. He smiled when he felt her shudder lightly. "A woman, like a fine loaf, has to be heated up just right, to where she's nice and hot, and then given just enough time to stay that way. And when she's done –" He inhaled her scent, in the curve where her neck met her shoulder. "When she's done and she's good and ready, and warmed up and soft, she's _delicious_."

He couldn't help it. Her flesh suddenly smelled so sweet, her hair so fragrant and soft, and he thought of that poor sod Gregory and how he must have spent night after night lying on top of her, pumping away while she damn near fell asleep. He pictured how she might look if she were actually experiencing pleasure – lush mouth opened to emit her soft moans, those large gray eyes rolled back in her head, those long legs of hers pulled up and back. Then he thought of himself being the one to bring said pleasure to her, and as he was thinking that his mouth brushed the side of her neck and his cock grew immensely hard inside his trousers. _Blimey. Just from kissin' her neck._

Then she slapped him, hard enough to make him see stars.

"You cad," she said in a shaking voice. "You absolute, filthy _cad_! Take your goddamn hands off me."

He backed away, lifting his hands in the air, smiling though his cheek stung smartly. "Oi, all right, all right," he said mildly. "Ain't no need in gettin' worked up. Tell me, darling – that was the most passion you've experienced since Greggy-boy, yeah? Since obviously Sabini was unsuccessful. My, what a temper you're in. It's quite fetchin', darling."

He chuckled as she shot to her feet, the blanket falling from her shoulders to the seat. "How _dare _–"

Alfie was on his feet, still laughing, and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her down into her seat. "Yeah, I dare. Come, love. Calm down. We're not done talking."

"I'm done talking to _you_," she said furiously, gathering up the blanket around her shoulders.

"I promise I'll behave," Alfie said, raising his hand into the air. "Yeah? We still haven't gotten to the part about you coming to work for Sabini." He smiled when she folded her arms and averted her gaze. "Please? I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't have teased. Even though I really meant what I said." He made a show of trying to look her in the eyes. "Yeah? We friends again?"

"We were never friends to start with," Lillie muttered.

Alfie beamed. "Ah, so she can speak. All right. Forgive my unbelievable boorishness at being unable to resist your sweet, soft flesh and being overcome with dismay that another man 'ad the chance to 'ave you and did you no justice at all. I'm sorry and all that. Now. Tell me how you found your way to Sabini."

She held herself rigidly and for a moment Alfie thought he'd have to force it out of her again. She surprised him by exhaling a long, defeated sigh and began to speak.

"After Gregory was killed, I tried to live on my own for a while, but we didn't have very much money, you see. And my grandmother wouldn't give me any after I married. 'That's your husband's job,' she would say. 'He's to take care of you, not me.' So eventually the little bit of money that we did have ran out, and I had to go back to her."

"There was nowhere else for you to go? Not to his kin?"

"I did not feel comfortable going to his kin," Lillie replied. "I did not know them, and did not wish to impose on them. They were going through enough."

"So back to grandmother's house you returned," Alfie said.

Lillie nodded. "Things were even worse for me as a widow than they were as an orphan. She felt that I pushed him to war, that perhaps I was horrible in some way that he'd rather go to war than stay at home with me. She felt I wasn't doing my wifely duties." She glanced briefly at Alfie. "She felt that because in the eight years that we were married and I failed to give him a child, that it was all somehow my fault.

"At any rate, I was miserable. They tried to arrange another marriage for me, and I would perhaps have been receptive to it had they not chosen whom they chose. I was numb, you see. I felt very little since my parents died. Gregory was kind, and I appreciated him, and I loved him as a person, but I _felt _nothing for him, not in the way a wife should. I was so very sad when he died. But I wasn't heartbroken. A wife should be heartbroken. I was, however, numb, as I said. I endured my grandmother's abuses, I endured the rest of the family doing nothing to help me. I felt nothing – until the day they introduced me to the new man they wanted me to marry. That _she _wanted me to marry. And in an instant I saw the sort of man he was – slick-talking, wealthy, but a horror of a man. The way he looked at me, the things he spoke of, his opinion of the world and a woman's place in it – I could see what I would be in for if I let it happen. And I refused to let it happen."

"You stood up to your old grandma?" Alfie said mildly, impressed. "I can't imagine that went over nicely."

"It didn't," Lillie replied. "She told me that I could do as she said, or that I could find myself penniless on the street." Her full lips twisted into a wry smirk. "In a fit of insanity and melodrama, I told her that she could bugger all her money and that I'd rather starve than spend another instant in her presence. I gathered as much as I could carry and I left."

"Look at the balls on you," Alfie said, feeling a bit of admiration.

Her smirk faded. "I found out very quickly that this was not the climate or economy a woman like me wanted to find herself penniless in," she said quietly. "I wasn't bred for work. I had an education, of course, but I had no skills that would do me any sort of good. I tried to get a job in a dressmaker's shop, but I boggled that on the first day. The textile mills were already all full of widowed women and orphaned children and they couldn't afford to pay me more than half a pound for a week's work. The factories and the mills are horrible places to work. They should be burned."

"Aye," Alfie murmured. "They should."

She glanced at him. "Did you ever work in one?"

He nodded. "As a child. And it was the most abhorrent experience of my life, that lasted many years until I grew up and became smart enough to be a criminal. Anyway. You couldn't find work. What then, did you do to survive?"

"I spent a year in and out of shelters and public living quarters," she said. "I would bounce from one to another when they kicked me out. I made friends with some prostitutes. Sometimes they would help me; if they had money for a room for a night or two they would bring me to share their bed, just so I wouldn't have to sleep on a bench or on the ground in an alleyway. They always tried to get me to join in on their business, and I always refused. 'I'm not that hungry,' I would always say. Well, one day, I became that hungry."

Alfie's ears perked up with new interest, looking at her intently. She was so beautiful, he thought, tilting his head as he studied her. So beautiful and broken and delicate. It was hard to imagine her lying on her back, or worse, for money.

"A friend of mine, a prostitute, took me to a friend of hers, who worked in a brothel for a madam," Lillie went on softly. "This horrifying woman took one look at me and hired me on the spot. 'A pretty little mare for all my customers to mount,' she called me. That was my nickname. The Pretty French Mare, because they knew I had been raised in France though I was English by blood. She even told me to speak French to them, to the men, or to speak English with a French accent. It would bring more money, she said, if they thought I was exotic."

For a moment Alfie registered distant surprise as he listened to her talk. It had been difficult to the point of impossibility to get her to speak earlier. Now that she was, it seemed she couldn't stop. All he had been interested in initially was finding out things about her past to possibly use against her to his advantage in some way while also picking her brain about Sabini. But now, he found himself hanging onto her every word. And he realized that this was probably the first time she had ever spoken of these things.

"My first night working there was, I suppose, an easy one as things go. The madam wanted to ease me into it, she said, so she gave me a customer who was a regular. Not the sort of man that you would think would patronize such establishments."

"Oh, you'd be surprised, darling," Alfie said dryly. "Go on."

"Perhaps I am naïve, but I suppose I was surprised. I guess I would have been, coming from where I came from. He was a middle-aged man, with a kindly face. The sort of gentleman you might see at church or at the butcher's or the bakery. Anyhow, he was shown to my…boudoir, and I was sent out to meet him." Her gaze lowered to her lap, and Alfie could see how her face was shamed, humiliated. "He requested for me to disrobe. All he wanted was to look at me. He didn't want to touch me nor did he expect or desire for me to touch him. I just stood still, and he just looked at me. Every inch of me. We didn't speak. When he wanted me to turn around he simply motioned for me to do so. He spent thirty minutes just looking at me. And then he paid me, and he left."

Alfie suddenly pictured her standing before him, unclothed, the fire highlighting her body as he looked at her. Every inch of her. He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. "Don't sound all bad to me. Kept his 'ands to 'imself, and you got paid."

"He was kind," she said softly. "But it was humiliating. I cried for an hour after he left. That evening some of the other girls came to speak with me. The madam herself came to speak with me. She had done me a kindness, she said, by not throwing me to the wolves immediately. She told me I needed to suck it up and do what I was here to do, or else she'd put me out on the streets again. The other girls, they told me that it wasn't so bad. They told me about the nice customers. They told me about the not so nice customers. They helped me. They said they got three meals a day, got decent clothes, a bath whenever they wanted it. I thought about it all night, and all the next day, and I made up my mind. This was going to be it for me.

"The next evening I was ready for my next customer. I stood in the parlor with the other girls when a large group of gentlemen came in. They began to look us, the girls, over and decide who they wanted for the night. One of the gentlemen came up to me. He was a young man. About your age. He made me turn around, looked at my face all over. He said, 'Who is this?' And the madam told him, 'This is my newest girl. My exotic beauty. We call her the Pretty French Mare. You may call her Frenchie.' Well, all the men got a pretty big kick out of that. 'Tell him hello,' Madam told me. I said to him, 'Bonjour, monsieur.' He said I would do for the night, that he would like to take the pretty French mare for a ride. He said he had a lump of sugar in his pocket I was sure to enjoy. I wanted to die inside. But I kept my chin up, my head held high. 'Oui, monsieur,' was all I said. And then suddenly…another man spoke up.

"He seemed a bit small in stature to me but it was clear that he radiated power from the way the other men clearly deferred to him. He walked up to me, staring at me as if I were a ghost, and he touched my face. He said, 'You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. No one shall touch you. I am going to take you out of this place.' Then he turned to his men and said, 'She goes with no one tonight but me.' He made me gather my things, and he took me out of that whorehouse that night. I couldn't understand any of it, but I knew I wanted to go. I felt, strangely, that he wouldn't harm me. He took me to an apartment, and he fed me and let me bathe and sleep. He stayed with me all night but he never touched me. In the morning, he kissed both of my cheeks and he told me that from that moment on, I would work for him, and he would keep me safe." Her eyes shifted to Alfie, and he saw that they had a slightly glassy quality, distant, as if she was back in that apartment instead of sitting with him in his office.

"His name was Darby Sabini."

* * *

><p>It was like waking from a dream.<p>

For a moment, she'd been far, far away from this office, from this bakery. She'd been in France, in Marseille, on the warm beaches, splashing through the water with her father. Her mother looked on, pretending to disapprove of the way her daughter held her skirts above her knees, but the gentle sparkle in her eyes gave her away. Then Lillie was in England; cold, dark England. She was shrinking beneath the cold, angry gaze of an icy old woman, feeling the sting of her daily slaps against her face, the pain of a wooden broom handle meeting her sides and back over and over again. Then she was with a faceless man, one who had a quiet, kind voice, fumbling hands. One who had treated her with respect and sweetness but have never touched the depth of womanly passion she was supposed to have. Then she was back in the cold clutch of the icy woman, and then face to face with the blazing, red-hot force of a man she knew instinctively to be a terror. And then…it was the gray, misty streets of London. The hard cobblestone beneath her feet, the stink of the harbor. The drunken screams and squeals, the feeling of gnawing hunger in her belly, of living in her own filth, covered in dirt and grime. The days at the whorehouse were a whirlwind, all bright, garish, loud opulence, but sustenance, food, and warmth.

And then there was Sabini.

She looked at Solomons, sitting so close to her, though he was leaned back in his chair. She could see all of his face now, as he was sitting close to the fire, and she liked that. His eyes, large and clear, were studying her closely, one hand scratching at his beard as he watched her. Beneath that beard, his skin, she could see, was smooth. If he shaved, she wagered his face would be soft to the touch, soft and smooth. She imagined what that might feel like against her own cheek. She knew what that beard felt like. She'd felt it twice today, but the second time, the feeling had been accompanied by words; filthy words, full of coarse and vulgar meaning. She should have been outraged.

But she hadn't been.

His voice in her ear, speaking softly of women and being hot and exploding, had flowed into her ear and made their way down deep into her belly, deeper, even. It was the same response her body had had when he'd been close to her earlier – her wildly beating heart, her sudden ability to smell him and become lightheaded from the utterly masculine aroma that covered him, the strange pulsing between her thighs. And then, she'd felt his mouth on her neck, open, hot. Her skin had felt like it was going to burst into flame, her heart somehow galloping even faster. She had been thinking of Gregory and his sad attempts to make love to her when they had been married. He had kissed her, he had caressed her, but it had done nothing for her. She would lie beneath him, always beneath him, and he would pump haphazardly into her, perhaps a couple dozen rabbit-like pumps, and then he would spill his seed into her and roll onto his side to pull her close and fall fast asleep, with no idea that she was lying frustrated beside him.

She had been thinking of Gregory, and when this insufferable man before her had put his mouth to his ear, his deep, rich, gravelly voice flowing like honey into her brain, Gregory had become someone else entirely and she began to feel phantom feelings that confused her and overwhelmed her. And in her mind's eye, it was not Gregory pumping away desperately on top of her, but a different man who she refused to name because it was so _wrong_. Wrong because he was her captor and he intended to kill her in the morning. But those phantom feelings wouldn't leave her, and then his mouth was upon her neck, so she'd had no other choice but to slap him as hard as she could.

She supposed she _had_ been outraged – at herself.

Finally, Solomons pulled his hand away from his face. "My," he said. "That is quite the story. You've come a long way, 'aven't you? It would seem your illusions of Mr. Sabini as your personal savior are…a wash, aren't they, love?"

"Yes," Lillie muttered, regretting that she'd shared her story in the detail that she had. But it was almost as if she'd had no control over mouth. No one had ever asked before, so she'd never told anyone what had happened. Sabini certainly had never asked. "Your time starts now," he would say. "With me. Whatever happened in the past is irrelevant."

But Solomons had asked, and he had listened, rapt, to her every word. What good it did him to hear her story, she had no idea. Why he was interested, she didn't know. But her story had been told, and she felt somewhat lighter for it.

"What would you 'ave done?" he asked. "If you'd gotten away from Sabini somehow, or if he let you go. Or if he wasn't in the picture at all and neither was your horrible grandma. What would you do?"

"I would go back to France," she replied softly, without hesitation. "To Marseille. To live by the sea again, in the warmth. We had a family house there. I still have the deed to it, but my life went in such a direction that I never did anything with it. And when I could have returned, I didn't have the money to travel there. So I just held onto it all these years. I wish I could return to the house of my childhood."

They fell silent again, listening to the crackling of the fireplace. She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth on her face, and for a moment, she was back home, her face turned up toward the sky. She could hear the laughter of children in her ears, the cry the birds overhead in the sky. She could smell the salt of the sea.

She opened her eyes and glanced at him, finding him again watching her very keenly. "What of your story?" she asked quietly. "A man like you doesn't get to where he is from being a spoiled and well-to-do gentleman."

His beard twitched as he half-smiled. "The bargain wasn't to hear my tale, lovely. The bargain was I feed you, and you talk."

"I know," she said. "I'm just asking. No bargain. Just…conversation."

"Hmph." Solomons' eyes shifted toward the fire now, as he folded his hands, his index fingers steepled together. "My tale, indeed. I 'ad a hard life. Grew up in the mills, the factories. Worked sixteen-hour days as a little lad. Barely went to school. In between that I ran with the young Jewish gang, started gettin' into stealin'. When I got good at stealin' I started workin' for the boss of the Jewish gang, while my mother went to work for a baker. She was a wonderful baker. I started bringin' 'ome more and more money, gainin' more and more respect from the boss, and eventually the owner of the bakery was…deposed, shall we say, by said boss and it became my mother's bakery. Then I went to that God-forsaken war."

"You were in the war?" Lillie asked, surprised. He didn't seem like the type of man who lived by "God, Queen, and Country".

"That I was. Worst four years of my life. Came home and found my mother had died three months prior. The bakery became mine, and then the gang boss died. I assumed control, and we've been a happy little family ever since." He gave her a cheeky, sarcastic smile.

"Did you ever plan to get married to a young lady?"

"Fuck, no," he said scornfully.

"Didn't you ever want to? And have children?"

"No," he said. "Categorical."

"Then who will take this over for you when you are gone?" Lillie asked.

"Who says I'm goin' anywhere?" he replied, giving her another cheeky grin.

"Well, you won't live forever," Lillie said impatiently. "Not to mention, I'm sure you've made a few enemies. My employer is far from your best mate."

"I've 'ad people comin' after me for one reason or another my entire fuckin' life," he said softly. "It ain't nothin' new to me. I spent four years learnin' 'ow to live, and breathe, and eat, and shit, and sleep with one eye open in case someone was pointin' a musket or a bayonet at me fuckin' 'ead. I've struggled just as you have struggled, I've been kicked like a dog and put out to starve and left to die my whole life. I can understand better than most where you've been and what you've gone through because I've gone through it too. But I don't feel sorry for you. I don't pity you. Because you're alive. You've done what you've 'ad to do to survive, and you made it, societal opinion be damned. And that makes you just like me. So don't worry about me."

"Sounds like a lonely life," Lillie commented.

He looked at her steadily for a long time. "Likewise," he replied quietly. He tilted his head. "Actually, there is one thing that I do feel sorry for you about."

"What's that?" Lillie asked suspiciously.

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and the counter boy from earlier stuck his head in. "Mr. Solomons," he said. "Mr. Harry says that your guest has arrived."

Instantly Lillie saw the change in Solomons, the way his eyes grew alert and his face went blank. "Tell Harry I'll be there presently." He glanced at Lillie as he got to his feet, reaching for his long black coat on the coat rack and donning it, and plopping a black Homburg on his head, where it sat slightly askew. "I've got a meetin', love. Is there anything you need?"

"Oh," Lillie said, surprised and flustered by the question. "Um. Actually, I would like to use the facilities." All the tea she had greedily drank down, the entire pot, in fact, had gone through her.

"Ain't no indoor plumbin'," Solomons replied, to her mortification.

Her face was bright red. "Have you got an outhouse at least?"

"Yeah. Probably no condition for a lady, though."

She was horrified at having the conversation at all, but especially in front of a stranger. The boy regarded her with new interest. She glared impatiently. "Well, shall I piss in your potted plant, or can I have an escort outside?"

Solomons regarded her doubtfully. "I know Bart ain't any older than fifteen, but he's a strong lad, and he carries a pistol. If you so much as –"

"I just want to use the facilities," she said impatiently. "He can stand outside and listen for all I care."

The boy's face brightened as Solomons sighed. "Yeah, all right. Bart, take her outside. If she so much as looks in the wrong direction, shoot her."

Lillie sighed and glanced at her shoes. It had been easy to forget that she was a prisoner for the past couple of hours. But his words brought her back sharply to the reality of her situation.

"Yes, boss," the boy said obediently. "Anything else?"

Solomons glanced at the small table. "Bring the lady more tea. More bread. See that she's comfortable until I return. You are welcome to any of the books you see." He gestured toward the two bookshelves against the wall, and for the first time, Lillie noticed they were full of books. She did love to read. She was surprised at his hospitality.

"Thank you," she said, her voice muted.

"All right. Ain't got all night waitin' for you to relieve yourself. Off you go." He gestured in front of him, and Lillie followed the boy out the door, hearing Solomons shut the door to his office behind them.

"Up 'ere, and to the left," the counter boy, Bart, told her. Solomons turned as if to go to the right, and Lillie thought of something and reached out, grabbing his arm. He stopped dead in his tracks, and looked at her hand. His arm felt heavy and muscled and firm beneath her hand, and she dropped it quickly.

"What is it, eh?" he asked softly, but his voice still echoed off the stone walls.

"It's just – I only meant to ask," she said, stepping closer to him so that her voice wouldn't carry so much. "Why do you feel sorry for me?"

For a moment he looked confused as though he'd forgotten what he'd said moments before. Then his face brightened as he remembered, and a smile spread slowly over his lips.

"I feel sorry for you, because despite bein' married once upon a time, not only have you never been shagged properly, you've never even 'ad a real kiss." He clicked his tongue in mock regret, while Lillie reddened with horror and glanced over her shoulder. The counter boy was trying his best to hide his laughter.

Suddenly she felt fingers on her chin, and Solomons gently guided her face back toward him. His eyes still danced with mirth, but his smile was gentler.

"Be a good girl," he said softly. "I'll return to you after this bit of business I must attend to. If you need anything, ask Bart. He'll be right outside your door. And don't try no funny business, yeah?"

Lillie was about to make a sarcastic reply that perhaps she'd get lucky and drown in the outhouse, but the words died in her throat when Solomons' eyes fixed on her lips for a moment. His thumb swiped over her bottom lip gently, then he released her.

"Be a good lad, Bart," he called as he started off. "And remember – shoot her if she tries anything." He continued on down the hallway, his merry whistle echoing off the damp, dark walls.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: And more for you. Read and review, darlings. xoxo**

**Chapter 5**

As it was with everything he did, Darby Sabini calling had to be an elaborate affair.

Before going out to meet him, Alfie loaded a basket with several different loaves of his bread. He carried it in one hand as he strode through the kitchen and out toward the back warehousing area. He nodded to two of his men, who pulled open a set of doors at the back of the room to admit Sabini and his crew.

Sabini was holding an Italian flag between his hands, and his right-hand man was holding a white flag. The sign of a truce. The man lifted the white flag, and Alfie nodded for them to enter. He watched as Sabini approached him, his weasely face with its tiny mustache pulled into something like a smirk as he approached Alfie. Alfie sighed inwardly and extended the bread basket. Sabini took it with a nod, making a show of looking over the loaves that was more out of politeness than interest, and handed the basket to the man holding the white flag.

Sabini then leaned in, placing his hands on Alfie's shoulders, and lightly kissed his cheeks three times. The wops and their customs, Alfie thought, enduring the caresses and suppressing the urge to punch the man in the mouth.

"Thank you for inviting me to your place of business for a chat," Sabini said, his voice and manner very smooth. "I am very much looking forward to ironing out our differences."

_But I didn't invite you, you fucking cunt, _Alfie thought, looking at him. "Of course. We're old mates, yeah? Come. Let's sit."

They moved over to a table, and Alfie waited for his "guest" to sit down, his men assembled behind him. Alfie took a seat across from him, his men behind him.

Sabini wasted no time. "So. It appears that you have something of mine, old friend."

Alfie couldn't resist. "Oh, do I, mate? And what might that be?"

Sabini smiled coldly. "Something very important, indeed. Dare I say, precious."

Alfie rubbed his beard. "Hmm. I can't think of it, mate."

"Try harder."

"Ah, yes." Alfie snapped his fingers. "I caught me a lovely little bird today. She flew right into the bakery, didn't she, lads?" He glanced over his shoulder at his men. "Right into the bakery she flew. She brought me a little gift I didn't really appreciate, though, so I couldn't set her free." He smiled. "Not without payment, anyway."

Sabini unleashed some of infamous temper then. "How in the fuck can you sit there and demand payment from me for offing your copper friend when _you _hit one of my men _first, _you filthy kike?"

Alfie was on his feet in an instant. "Watch your bloody fuckin' mouth, eh? You're under my roof, Sabini." He glared down at the heaving, red-faced man as he struggled to get himself under control. Finally he lifted his hands.

"My apologies," he said in a tone that was anything but apologetic. "It wasn't my intent to offend you. However, even _you_ must know that requesting a ransom of _one hundred thousand fucking pounds_, even from a man like me, is a ridiculous request."

"Then she dies." Alfie calmly folded his hands and stared levelly at the man, gauging his reaction.

The truth was, Alfie really didn't want to kill her. He was actually fond of her, in a strange way. But he didn't have a rep for offering "deals or death" for nothing, and if he freed the bird without receiving his sum he would lose credibility. He could keep her, but what he would do with her was beyond him. Perhaps he had time to figure that out, but regardless, he needed Sabini to make all of his next moves with her impending death in mind.

A flash of something like torture went through the Italian's eyes then, just for a brief instant, before a mask of indifference covered it. But it was too late; Alfie saw it, and understood the depth of his agony should anything happen to her.

"Be reasonable," Sabini said calmly. "She's important to me – that is, to my operation. She's very smart, she can get into places inconspicuously and on a number of occasions, she has served as bait for my enemies. She's extremely useful. But a hundred thousand pounds for a single person – you've not kidnapped the Queen, my friend. Perhaps we can negotiate the sum to be lower. Even _you_ do not have a hundred thousand pounds."

"I know," Alfie replied. "Why the fuck do you think I'm askin' for it?"

It wasn't necessarily meant to be a joke but men on both sides chuckled and some of the tension eased. Alfie shrugged to himself, not liking being laughed at when he wasn't trying to be funny, but for the sake of the more relaxed atmosphere he let it slide.

"All right," he said. "You came 'ere to negotiate with me. I'm all ears, mate. I genuinely want to 'ear what you have to say. Negotiate away."

"Take a quarter of your original sum," Sabini said encouragingly. "Twenty-five thousand pounds. That is manageable."

"Half." Alfie didn't blink.

As he had hoped, Sabini grew uncomfortable. "Half is still rather steep, old friend," he said tightly. "Perhaps I could sway you with some other negotiations that do not have a monetary value necessarily."

Alfie gestured silently for him to continue.

"Here is what I offer," Sabini said. "Peace. A truce between the Italians and the Jews. No more violence. No more thievery. No more arrests. You and your gang will operate free and clear, just as we will."

"Yeah, small problem with that, mate," Alfie said. "Our boundaries overlap. And that's where the problems come in. We can't both operate free and clear in the same fuckin' neighborhoods, can we? That's rhetorical. Of course we fuckin' can't."

Sabini clenched his jaw. "Then I shall give you first pick of neighborhoods. A fair split, but you have your choice first. We will take what is left."

Alfie could hardly believe his ears. "What? Say again, mate? Are you sayin' _all _of the neighborhoods on the table, we get first pick, you get our leftovers?"

"I would hope that you would accept my gesture of generosity more responsibly and respectfully," Sabini replied, his eyes narrowing.

Alfie chuckled. "Yeah, all right. Oi, Randall. Write this down, eh?"

A young man immediately sat down next to Alfie and produced a pen and a pencil. He scribbled down Sabini's first two offerings.

"All right," Alfie said, stroking his beard. "All right. Twenty-five thousand pounds. Top pick of half the neighborhoods. Peace. What else?"

Sabini smiled coldly. "A chance to get rid of a common enemy."

"Who might that be?"

"The gypsy gang. The Peaky Blinders."

Alfie scratched his beard, studying him. "They ain't no enemies of mine as of late. We're good mates, actually."

"No." Sabini shook a finger at him. "No. You only _think _they are. They are running wild. From Birmingham to London, they are running wild. They can't be controlled. They need to be stopped."

Alfie folded his hands. "What do you suggest?"

"War. War against the gypsies. Starting with their leader, Tommy Shelby. He's a great deal smarter than he looks. I know he looks like a child, but he's a man grown, and a vicious one at that. He'll put a knife in your back before you can even turn around."

Alfie considered himself to be an excellent judge of character, and the day he'd sat down with Tommy Shelby, he'd gotten immediately that the young man was calculating, cold at times, very, very intelligent, but not a backstabber, at least not where he was concerned. But what he was picking up right now was that Darby Sabini was very, very frightened of the young crime boss.

"You and I will wipe out the gypsies, and then we will take back control of London. The city's big enough to be split evenly between the two of us. The Jews, and the Italians. What do you say to that?"

"Hmm." Alfie leaned back in his chair, studying his old friend. His mind was calculating at warp speed, as the reality of the situation, the things that Sabini _wasn't_ saying, came together like pieces to a puzzle. "All of this, just to get your little bird back?"

Sabini didn't flinch. "As I said, she is very important to my organization."

He was still smitten with her, Alfie could see. Whatever had happened between them had angered him, to be sure, but the Italian was still desperate for her. Alfie knew Sabini would never come right out and say so, especially not in a roomful of his men. He didn't need to appear weak in anyway, especially when it came to a woman.

He wondered just what would happen if he did hand Lillie back over. He didn't have to guess very hard that if given the choice she would not want to go back to Sabini, but what were her other options? Go back, or die.

Or perhaps…there could be something else. His brain whirled.

If she returned to Sabini, he would make her life a living hell. He would undoubtedly keep trying to force himself upon her, one way or another, until she submitted and allowed him to claim her. If she ever angered him again, the man was unhinged enough to possibly do away with her.

And while she was far from Alfie's problem, he found that he didn't want that for her. She'd led a hard life, and the thought that it would end that way for her, in death at the hands of this sorry creature before him or to languish in misery for the rest of her life, suddenly didn't sit well with him at all. Which made him want to chuckle, considering he'd been prepared to kill her himself. _My. How things change._

"Tell you what," Alfie said finally. "Bugger the twenty-five thousand pounds. I'll agree to a fair split of the city and war with the gypsy boys and give the girl back on one condition."

"Name it," Sabini said immediately.

Alfie smiled. "I get one night with your pretty little bird."

Fury flamed in Sabini's eyes though his face gave away nothing. Alfie waited patiently. He knew that the man would not refuse him, as to do so would be to display that weakness for the woman in front of his men, which could cause feelings of disrespect and disloyalty. He also knew that when Sabini gave in, he would certainly find a new way to punish Lillie when she was returned to him.

Luckily for her, she wouldn't be returning to Sabini.

"You want one night with her," Sabini repeated evenly.

"That's right, mate," Alfie said. "One night. And we'll call the business with my copper friend square, yeah? And then you can do what you like with those naughty little Birmin'ham people and I'll assist you in whichever way you like."

Sabini sat rigidly and Alfie could practically read the argument going on in the man's mind with himself as if it was displayed on his forehead. He could also sense the way Sabini's men's eyes shifted toward their leader the longer the silence went on. They were starting to wonder, Alfie knew, why their boss was having such a difficult time agreeing to such simple terms. Alfie knew that his own men wouldn't think anything of his request, since it was clear they were getting a great deal, second to getting a hundred thousand pounds in their piggy bank.

"Fine," Sabini said finally, practically spitting out the word. "Fine. One night with her. Do what you will. Just don't – hit her in the face or otherwise mar her appearance. I still need her to be useful."

"What, do I look like a fuckin' animal, mate?" Alfie said innocently. "I like her pretty. I want to keep her that way while I'm lookin' down at her. Or when she's lookin' back at me, you know." He winked. "However we find ourselves."

His words were designed to sting and he saw that he was successful. Sabini stood abruptly. "Shall we shake, then?"

Alfie slowly got to his feet, his eyes on the man's face. "Yeah. I'm good with everything. You?"

"Fine," Sabini snapped. "This will all work out fine. Now, if you'll shake, my men and I will take our leave and let you get back to your operations."

"Oh, operations is ceased for tonight now, mate," Alfie said with a wolfish grin. "Now I got other plans on my agenda, you know what I mean?"

"Your meaning is all too clear, old friend," Sabini said sharply. "We have a deal."

Alfie slowly extended his hand and Sabini clasped it, giving it three firm shakes, looking him in the eye. Alfie blinked at him slowly, staring at him levelly.

Sabini dropped his hand and motioned to his men. "Let's go."

Alfie watched them all stalk toward the door. "Oi, don't forget your bread, mate."

One of his men picked up the forgotten basket of bread and brought it to Sabini. He looked down at it. "Oh, yes," he said flatly. "I almost forgot."

"Finest loaves this side of London," Alfie called cheerfully. "Pleasure doin' business, mate. It's always so much nicer when we can agree."

"Indeed," Sabini said flatly. "I'll be in touch. I want her first thing in the morning."

Alfie smiled sweetly. "I'll be sure to wake 'er up in time. Ta-ta, mate." He watched them leave, his smile slowly slipping off his face as his mind began formulating his plan. He turned to Harry.

"Make sure our boys stay put," he said in a low voice. "And make sure we have enough guns."

"Guns?" Harry said. "Guns for what exactly? We just made peace, I thought."

"No," Alfie said, glancing at the closed doors. "No, mate, I just started an even bigger war."

* * *

><p>Outside the bakery, squinting in the sleet, Sabini threw the bred into a puddle of muddy water, and then spat on it for good measure.<p>

* * *

><p>Lillie paced restlessly around the office, anxious for Solomons to return.<p>

Bart had turned out to be quite courteous, even while he was pointing a gun at her. He held an umbrella over her head as they went outside to the outhouse. He ensured she was safely inside before shutting the door and standing guard a polite distance from the little building while she relieved herself. He offered her his arm and the umbrella – gun held in his other hand – and escorted her back to the bakery. He led her to the office and poked the fire around, adding more logs to ensure it was nice and hot and blazing cheerily. He cleared away her used dishes, and then brought her more tea, more sugar, more bread, more butter and more jam.

"Anythin' else you need, ma'am?" he asked politely, and for a moment it was hard for Lillie to understand that this boy had probably killed people while working for Solomons.

"No, thank you," she said in a low voice. "You have been very – kind."

He nodded and bowed his head slightly. "Then please make yourself comfortable. I'll just lock the door until Mr. Alfie returns. Goodnight."

The boy who had kept a gun trained on her for fifteen minutes was bidding her a goodnight with manners that befit a prince. She stared as he shut the door and turned the key in the lock.

She sat down and poured a cup of tea and had a slice of bread. She couldn't look at it without remembering the words, so hot and soft, that Solomons had spoken into her ear earlier and she shivered reflexively. She tried to muster up some feminine outrage at his words. It wasn't right, him commenting on her private life that was to be just between her and her dead husband. It didn't matter that he'd been absolutely correct in his assumption. It wasn't fodder for discussion with a stranger.

She nodded to herself. He'd caught her off guard, that was all. She didn't need to spend any more time thinking about his vulgarity. And certainly not about him doing things to get a woman to a level where she was "nice and hot" until she…exploded.

Lillie cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. She wasn't innocent by any means, and she was far from a virgin. She'd been married eight years to her husband before he died, and he had been a virile young man. Granted, he'd been clumsy and unintentionally selfish in their marital bed. She had always given herself to him willingly, because that was what a wife was supposed to do. But she had never felt any passion for him, any excitement. He had certainly never gotten her heart racing with whispered words in her ear, or made her lightheaded with his scent. He'd never made her tremble by merely stroking a finger over her bottom lip, or overwhelmed her base feminine being with his outstanding masculinity.

He had never made her obsess over the notion of a kiss.

Sexual intimacy was one thing. She knew of women, some of her old prostitute friends, who took pleasure from lying with a man. But her experience and common knowledge told her that it was just something that women had to endure for their husbands or if they wanted to get paid. She couldn't imagine finding pleasure from a man moving in and out of her body the way Gregory had done. And as she didn't have any other reference – by the grace of God – she could only assume all men functioned the same way he had.

But a kiss – that was different. Her very first kiss with Gregory had been pleasant, if a little awkward. It had been pleasant enough that she had hoped for more, but he had never kissed her very much after that and certainly not while they were coupling. He would just roll on top of her, lick his hand, swipe it over her mound and push his way in. Then he would frantically pump until he released, during which time she felt very little at all other than a fervent hope he would hurry up so she could go to sleep. Then he would tiredly kiss her forehead and drop off to the side of her. And she would be left with an inexplicable feeling of frustration and a sticky mess to contend with for some time afterward.

It occurred to her that Solomons seemed to be somewhat fixated on her mouth. She realized she'd caught him staring at it on several occasions during their talk, and he had touched her lips twice. When he'd been very close to her, his face inches from hers, his eyes would never leave them. And he kept making comments about it being a shame that she'd never been properly "snogged".

Was he suggesting that he wanted to be the one to do so?

The thought was preposterous. He planned to kill her in the morning when he did not receive his money. Unless she could finally find a way to kill him herself, she was as good as dead. What murdering bastard could plan her death and also be interested in kissing her also? Despite herself, she could not stop from picturing his mouth, almost concealed by his beard. His lips had been so soft against the back of her hand and the side of her neck. She'd never imagined a man could have such soft lips. She imagined them upon her own lips, moving softly. She wondered what sort of a kisser he might be, since he didn't seem to possess a romantic bone in his body. Then the thought of hard, feverish kisses made her lower belly clench unexpectedly, strange feelings flying through her lower half.

She forced herself to ignore them. Perhaps he would kiss her goodbye, before he slit her throat.

That was funny, she thought, that she was thinking casually about her own death. Perhaps it hearkened back to the numbness she had described earlier for Solomons. And too – a part of her always expected to meet her demise, one way or another, at a young age.

It was bound to happen. That she had escaped it this long was a wonder. Perhaps Solomons would be doing her a kindness – ending her misery. Perhaps she'd see her parents again.

She walked to the bookshelf and scanned the titles. Solomons had said she was welcome to any of it. There were many interesting titles, and even a few that she had already read. She stopped on one title and looked at it curiously. After a moment, she yanked the tome from the shelf.

The Torah.

She knew that Solomons was a Jew, and took it seriously enough to observe the custom of maintaining a beard. She wondered how religious he was. She knew next to nothing about the religion, and she was curious as to what it might have to say regarding things like crime and murder.

She sat down in her chair next to the fireplace and began to flip through it. Some of it was familiar to her – parts of the Christian Old Testament were here. As she flipped through, an object fell from the middle pages of the book into her lap. She picked it up and realized it was a photograph.

It was of a middle-aged woman with a kind face. It was a lined, weary, weathered face, to be sure, but one that hinted at beauty in her younger days. Lillie flipped the photo over.

_To my dear son. I miss you, and I love you. Return home safe. _

It was Solomons' mother, dated 1916.

She turned the photo back over to study the grainy photo. He had received his large, clear pewter eyes from her, that was clear. She also had a full mouth, shaped similarly to his also. She wondered if she had ever known the truth of what her son was like. She had died before he had assumed power of the Jewish gang, but according to Solomons, he had been well into a criminal life long before her death.

She was still studying the photograph when the door opened. She snapped her head up, her heart pounding and her face going hot, as though she'd been caught doing something naughty.

Solomons' eyes went over her quickly. "I'd like to talk to you." He did a double-take. "What 'ave you got there?"

His manner seemed considerably more serious and subdued than his previous jollity. She bit her lip. "I, ah, was reading through a book and I found this photo." She held it out to him and he took it, looking down at it for a long time. He glanced up at her.

"Which book you find this in?"

She held it up sheepishly. "The Torah."

The arm holding the photo dropped to his side. "You were readin' the _Torah_?"

She shrugged. "I was curious," she said defensively. "I know nothing about Judaism. I just – I was curious."

"Hmm." He placed the photo in his coat pocket and removed his hat. "I suppose. You're a queer little bird."

She folded her arms, watching him as he hung up his coat and hat. "How was your meeting?" she asked, searching for something to say since he seemed so distracted.

He half-smiled. "Funny. That's the very thing I would like to talk to you about."

She looked at him strangely. "You want to speak to _me _about _your _meeting?"

"Yes," he replied, leaning against the door. "Because it was with your boss."

"With my –" She trailed off, staring at him. "Do you mean to tell me that Sabini was here tonight?"

Solomons thumbed over his shoulder. "Left not a moment ago."

"What – why was he here?"

"Well, to make a plea for you, of course," Solomons replied, grinning.

Lillie shook her head in confusion. "If he was here – and he left – then that means –" She looked up at him, feeling the blood drain from her face. She gulped. "Then that means he failed to meet your ransom demand."

"Indeed he did, lovie," Solomons said, watching her closely.

She felt faint. She sat down hard in her chair, staring at the floor as it all came together. Sabini had come for her, to try to save her, and he hadn't had the money – of course. That he'd left meant but one thing – she was a dead woman.

Then she grew angry.

She glared at Solomons. "Well, what are you waiting for, then? Get on with it! It's bad enough I'm to be killed anyway, but you could have the decency not to toy with me!"

"Are you shouting, love?" he asked mildly.

"In fact, when he was here, you could have simply dragged me out there and slaughtered me and then given him my head, since you want to be so melodramatic about it. Must it be packed in a box and sent over by courier?"

"I implore you," he said, leaving the door and approaching her, "please lower your voice."

"Why?" she shouted. "I'm to be killed, the least you can do is grant me the ability to speak to you however I please, you monster!"

"Lillie," he said. "Hush."

"No! You hush! You filthy, murdering –"

"I'm not going to murder you," he interrupted, standing before her.

She looked at him, and wondered if she was losing her mind for a moment. She wiped tears off her cheeks. "What?"

"I'm not going to kill you," he repeated. He reached out and stroked his fingers up along her throat, underneath her chin. "Appears you get to keep your pretty head, after all."

"But – but –" She slowly rose to her feet on knees that wobbled. "You said that Sabini didn't have the money."

"He doesn't." Solomons smiled and folded his arms.

"Then…why am I not dying?"

"We made other arrangements." He moved to lean against the edge of the desk, watching her.

"Then why am I still here?"

"You don't really want to go back, do you?" He tilted his head and gave her a mocking smile. "No, darling. Your boss negotiated new terms and I negotiated a few of my own. You're still 'ere because…your boss has allowed you to be."

"What?" Lillie asked again, feeling her mind whirl confusingly. "Why?"

He winked. "You're mine for the night, darling. All mine."

"I'm…" The realization of his meaning struck her full force. "He whored me out to you?"

"What? No," Solomons said, his face mock-aghast. "Don't be silly. No, I negotiated for you."

"You – you – _what?"_ Lillie nearly shrieked.

"Yes. You see, darling, I find you to be quite beautiful, most fetching. And the idea that no man 'as ever brought you pleasure is too much for me to bear, so, I agreed to put our differences aside in exchange for a night with you. And then Sabini and I will 'ave peace with each other, and I'll 'elp him wage war on the Blinders." His eyes never left her face.

She was furious. "I'm glad that my body means so little to either one of you. Truly. And I'm glad that the terms of your peace come down to using said body to your disgusting pleasure. And let me tell you this, Mr. Solomons. As for you thinking that you'll betray the Blinders to side with Sabini and have peace, think again. He's not to be trusted. As soon as you help him eliminate the Blinders, _if_ you can, he will turn around and put a knife in _your _back. Though, if you ask me, it's well deserved."

She whirled away from him, hugging herself, moving toward the fireplace.

After a moment of silence, she heard him speak quietly. "I know."

She turned around. "What do you mean, you know?"

He was watching her closely as usual. "I mean, I know. I'm well aware of your boss's loyalty and where it really lies – with himself." He pushed away from the desk and went around behind it. "There's an old saying, my love. It goes like this: 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' Mr. Sabini is, and always will be, my enemy no matter how many flowery words of peace we speak to one another in a room full of witnesses. And Mr. Sabini is also Mr. Shelby's enemy. Therefore, that makes Mr. Shelby and I friends." He glanced up at her. "Would you come over here, please, love? I need your 'elp with something."

She regarded him doubtfully, her mind warring with itself, but in the end, curiosity won. She approached him cautiously as though he were a rabid dog growling at her.

"What?"

He patted the desk chair in front of him, smiling charmingly. "'Ave a seat, darling."

"Why?"

He sighed. "Because your penmanship is presumably neater than mine, being that you're a woman, and I need you to write something down for me."

"Another ransom demand?" she asked dryly, but she came to the desk anyway and sat down in the chair he made a show of pulling out for her. She sat down with him still standing behind her, and jumped when his hands came to rest on her shoulders.

"Please write the following," he said, his fingers squeezing down lightly. "'Dear Mr. Shelby, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. I'm writing to alert you that our mutual friend is planning an extravagant surprise birthday party. The only reason I tell you this is because I know how much you hate surprises. Our friend is quite excited for this soiree and he would be brokenhearted if he knew you were the wiser. Please make sure to keep this a secret between you and I. Sincerely yours, A.S.'"

Lillie frowned as she wrote out the note. When she was done she dropped her pen and twisted around to look up at him. "You mean, you're not betraying Tommy?"

One of his hands left her shoulder to lightly stroke her throat, and then he affectionately cupped her chin before he reached around her to snatch up the paper. "You're a clever little bird."

She rose to her feet. "You mean…you're double-crossing the double-crosser?"

Solomons signed his name to the bottom of the note and then folded it and tucked it into an envelope. He poured some candle wax on the seal. "That would be correct, love."

"And you think it's smart to send that poorly coded letter through the mail?"

He looked up at her intently. He picked up the note and walked around the desk to perch on the edge of it, in front of her. He folded his arms. "What would you do to go back to France? To go back home?"

She blinked. Then she said, "As you said before, this is what one calls a loaded question."

"Yes. Very much so. I'm still waitin' on answer, though."

"Nearly anything," she said finally. "What does this have to do with me?"

He held up the note. "I'll make you a deal," he said, and for possibly the first time since meeting him, his face was devoid of any mockery, mirth, or mischief. He was completely serious. "First thing tomorrow morning, you travel to Birmingham to put this note in Tommy Shelby's hand and tell him of the good will it was sent with, as well as fill 'im in on your boss's plan, and let 'im know you're under my protection. And in return, I will get you back home."

For a moment the words didn't make sense. She stared at him. "Get me…back home?"

He nodded once. "Yes. I will send you home. No more London. No more England at all, for that matter. No more Sabini. No more struggling." He got up and went to his desk once more. He used a key to unlock a drawer, and then pulled out a box. He opened the box and withdrew a thick stack of money and held it up.

"This is enough for a boat ticket to France, a room, and food. When you get there, contact me and I'll wire you some more money."

He tossed the stack of bills onto the desk right by her hand. She stared down at it, dumbfounded. "Why?" was all she could say.

He resumed his seat on the desk before her. "Because I know what it is to struggle," he replied quietly. "And I know what it is to long for something so much you can taste it. You're not a bad sort, love. Just an extremely unfortunate one. And…" he trailed off, then gave her a small mischievous smile. "The thought of Sabini's face when he realizes I plucked you brings me joy."

"He'll kill you," she whispered. "Don't underestimate him. Although I'm astonished that you're willing to help me – you don't know the repercussions it will bring. It'll start a war."

"I'm already in one, darling," he said mildly. "And I can handle Sabini. I've known him for a long time. I believe, love, he underestimates _me_." He held her gaze for a moment. "Do we have a deal?"

She looked down at his outstretched hand. "I –"

"Home, darling," he interrupted softly. "This is your chance to go home. To your childhood house, to the warm beaches, to the birds in the sky overhead. To the sunshine and the warmth. This is your chance." He held up the note again. "But it all rests on this."

She met his gaze, and then after a moment she slowly slipped her hand into his. "Yes," she whispered. "We have a deal."

He held her hand firmly but gently and gave it one shake, holding her gaze. He pulled his hand from hers and replaced it with the note. "Into Shelby's hand, and no one else's," he cautioned. "No one knows you, you shouldn't have a problem getting to Birmingham or to Shelby. He's got a special place in his 'eart for pretty brunettes. I coded the message in such a way that he will immediately understand my meaning but anyone outside won't."

"But you signed it," she said.

"I did, and I didn't. I don't sign my name to nothin'. Trust me, love, he'll know it's me and that it's legitimate."

"But if I tell him I work for Sabini, he might –" She paused, considering. "Well, he might behave quite a lot like you."

Solomons tipped his head back and roared with mirth. "Trust me love, ain't no one quite a lot like me. You will be fine. I promise." He touched her chin lightly, guiding her to look him in the face. "I ain't like your boss. I wouldn't send you into a situation where you might get 'urt."

For a moment she was lost in his eyes, still hardly daring to believe that she was, really and truly, going to be able to go home.

Before she knew what she was doing, she leaned in and kissed him.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Oh me, oh my. This one just flowed out of me, and the fun is only just beginning. Enjoy, and hope this makes Monday easier to contend with. xoxoxo**

**Chapter 6**

Alfie Solomons was not a man who was typically surprised by much. He'd seen and done so much in his life that the actions of others rarely took him by surprise; in fact, he could usually predict them.

But when Lillie's lips landed on his in her emotional tumult, he couldn't have been more shocked than if she'd pulled out a gun and shot him. In fact, considering how the day had gone and their general rapport up until now, he would have expected _that _over a kiss.

Or an attempt at a kiss, anyway.

Her lips were soft, lovely against his own, lush and fleshy. But though her action was clearly impulsive, it was still tentative and unsure, as if she didn't know just what to do, which befit someone who had never really been properly kissed as he had obviously correctly diagnosed. She was pulling away before any real emotion or passion could have been built, her regret practically radiating off her.

She covered her lips with her fingers, looking away. "I'm sorry."

Alfie couldn't help it. He started to laugh. She looked at him sharply, hurt filling her eyes. "Well, you needn't _choke_," she said darkly, glaring at him as he chortled helplessly. "I just – I –"

"I told your boss I wanted you for the night as a _ruse_, love," he said, clearing his throat. "I had no intention of actually takin' you. You needn't repay me for my kindness, if you want to call it that. Just know it's never granted so easily."

"I wasn't _repaying _you, you arse," she snapped. She turned her back on him and walked toward the fire. "I was merely trying to show my appreciation."

"And that was the best method you could come up with?" he asked, folding his arms. "I've 'ad better kisses from my grandmother as a child, love."

"That's disgusting and offensive," Lillie replied, casting another scathing look at him over her shoulder. "Forget about it. Forget I did it."

"Well, now, you see, I can't," Alfie replied, pushing away from the desk and strolling toward her, his hands in his pockets. "Because you quite took me by surprise, little bird. The last thing I expected was that you would try and snog me, and I daresay that it confirmed all of my suspicions about you."

"What suspicions?" she demanded, looking at him as he joined her in front of the fireplace.

"That no man 'as ever done right by you with the touch of his 'and," Alfie said softly. "And that despite the fact that you possess a lovely set of lips that beg for kisses just sitting there on your face, you've never been shown what a proper kiss is. Which is why you simply mashed your mouth to mine and then walked off."

He couldn't hold back another chuckle, both at his own last sentence and the way her face had gone from soft at his first words to hard and angry again at his last. She turned to move away from him.

"I made a mistake," she said coldly. "Don't worry. It won't happen again. I'll keep my gratitude to myself next time, as well as –"

"Come 'ere, love," he interrupted quietly, and, still laughing softly, he grabbed her wrist and hauled her in against his body. He heard her gasp of surprise and saw for a brief moment the way her eyes were big and unsure before he closed his own, leaned down, and took her lips confidently with his.

Her body went rigid immediately in his arms, her hands fisting tightly into his sleeves, but he kissed her insistently, working his lips against hers firmly but gently. He kept at it for another few seconds until, blessedly – her lips began to move back against his. They were hesitant and unsure, but eager.

He smiled against her mouth, sure she wasn't going to slap him, and began to focus on what he was doing. Her lips felt plush and warm, her breath sweet and gusting against his cheek in soft little sighs. He'd only meant to prove a point, but his heart began to race and he felt his hands tighten around her as if they had a mind of their own. He was very aware of her small body against his, and the way her hands slipped up his arms to hold onto his shoulders and the back of his neck.

He broke away for just a moment to look at her, and found her eyes closed, her lips parted and emitting little ragged breaths. The warmth of the fire made her cheeks glow and when she opened her eyes halfway, to meet his, the look in them was too much for him to bear so he lowered his head again and returned to her mouth.

He released her lips just long enough to latch onto her bottom one, suckling at it gently. Then he very carefully ran his tongue softly over her upper lip and her mouth opened automatically. He lightly swept his tongue into her mouth, and immediately found the prize of her tongue. He slid his over it, around it, and enjoyed the way her body shook and the sound of her soft noises of pleasure. Then he realized his trousers were snug in the front suddenly, and that his own hands were shaking slightly, and he released her, pushing her away from his body a little but keeping his hands on her waist.

"That, love," he said, his voice a great deal lower and huskier than normal, "is 'ow it's done."

Her eyes were still closed and she seemed unable to form words. Her lips were plump and moist from their activity and he noticed the way her lashes cast long shadows on her cheeks. She was too lovely, too terribly lovely, and he gently released her and stepped away.

"That drink now, love?" he said, his voice overly jovial and loud to his own ears, over the sound of blood rushing through them. He didn't wait for her reply. "You'll 'ave one." He poured out two messy glasses of dark rum and brought her one, thrusting it into her hand before downing half the contents of his glass in one go. He had to keep moving, keep walking around the office and take care to stay out of her vicinity. He could still taste her sweet tongue under the liquor, feel the softness of her mouth and body against his, and he reminded himself he'd never take a woman by force no matter how badly he wanted her. She didn't want _that_, he told himself. She may not have even wanted the kiss but he'd been unable to control himself. He needed to keep well away from her to ensure that he could. His hand closed tightly around the glass unconsciously until he heard a slight cracking noise.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. She was still standing by the fire, one hand on the mantle for support. Her eyes were glassy as she stared off into space, and she absently brought her drink to her lips, taking a long swallow. He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"No coughing, no hacking, no gagging," he observed, ignoring the way his voice shook slightly. "Why, love. I b'lieve you've 'ad a drink before, you naughty, naughty little thing."

"I didn't say that I didn't drink," she replied slowly, finally looking over at him. "I just said I didn't want _your _drink."

"Now that you've 'ad it, what do you think?" he asked, finishing his liquor with another careless flick of his wrist and folding his arms.

"I've had better."

He laughed uproariously. "Course you 'ave. It's really goat piss."

"It's not that bad," she replied distantly, taking another sip. Then she closed her eyes and sighed.

He watched her very closely, staying right where he was. "Something wrong love? Per'aps I should apologize to you. I love a challenge, you see, and I couldn't resist the chance to show you 'ow a woman ought to be kissed. Especially one as beautiful as you."

Her eyes hazily sought him out. "I – no. Please don't apologize. Don't – don't ruin it for me."

"Ruin it?" Even from where he was standing, a good distance from her, he saw the way her cheeks flushed even darker pink.

She finished her drink before speaking. "I have never – well, _you _know. I've never experienced that before. And even though you can be a detestable boor, that was – that was –" She swallowed, looking down at the glass in her hands. "That was incredible. I'm still getting – shivers. I still –" She broke off, her eyes focusing on the cut glass decanter of rum on the small table by the door. She went for it, pouring a healthy drink into her glass. She finished it all, to his amazement, in one go. She practically slammed her glass down, wiping at her mouth with the back of one hand. "I can still _feel_ you."

He didn't know why, but that made his breath catch. He could certainly still feel her, too.

She filled her glass again and had another drink. "I didn't know that a kiss could make you feel so many things. Make you think so many things. That _feelings_ could make you think."

Perhaps she was slightly tipsy now. But he tilted his head. "What are you going on about, love?"

"You made me feel…warm. Tingly all over. You made my heart race and my head dizzy. I felt like I couldn't breathe, and that was wonderful. You made me feel as though we should…never stop." She met his eyes boldly. "You…you made me…_want _you, Mr. Solomons."

His ears perked up like a lynx. "Call me Alfie," he murmured, folding his arms. "Per'aps it was simply the kiss followed by three drinks of rum that made you feel this way, darling. Perhaps it has nothin' at all to do with me. I'm a boor, remember? I've held you hostage all day long, threatened to kill you multiple times. To be fair, you 'ave also tried to kill me. But I've tied you up and teased you and made you discuss things you never wanted to. Made you uncomfortable."

"You did," she agreed. "But you've also shown me great kindness and you're giving me back something that you couldn't even begin to understand how much it means to me. And you've given me…a real kiss. You've shown me what I was missing for so many years. And I beg your pardon for saying so, Mr. Solomons, but I can't imagine never having that again in my life. Never feeling what I'm feeling right now."

"Call me Alfie, I said," he said quietly, his eyes glued to her. He watched as she made her way to his desk, perching on the edge of it. "What 'ave I made you feel, darling?"

She looked at the floor, somewhat shy. "May I answer you frankly, Mr. Solomons?"

"Frank answers are my favorites, darling. Tell me…what is it that you are feeling?"

Her large eyes glowed in the firelight as she looked at him. "Arousal."

At once, all of the blood in his body and in his head left their stations and rushed to the front of his trousers. He held her gaze steadily. "Indeed. Is this the rum talking, sweetling?"

"It is said, to paraphrase poorly, that a drunk mind speaks an honest tongue." She leaned back on her hands. "Mr. Solomons."

His entire body was rigid, waiting for what was coming next. "Yes, love?"

"Will you please come over here?"

It was all he could not to run to her. He sauntered toward her casually, coming to stand tantalizingly close to her. "What can I do for you, love?" he asked softly, looking down at her knees.

"You can kiss me again."

He looked at her. She was staring at him silently, her bosom moving silently with fast breaths, her body tensed. She was waiting.

He stared down at her mouth through hooded eyes. He reached one hand behind her head and removed the ornate pin that held her hair in its knot, feeling her locks tumble down her back over his hand like silk. He slipped his hand through the strands to fist a taut handful right against her scalp at the base of her skull. He held her gaze another moment, seeing the way her eyes had gone hazy and her sumptuous lips had parted.

Then he lunged.

Her mouth was urgent beneath his, her hands scrabbling at him again to bring him close to her. His hand gripped her hair while the other cupped her jaw, his mouth feeling as desperate as hers was. And he was desperate, desperate to have more of her mouth and to taste her deeply. He wanted to feel the soft slide of their tongues moving together, he wanted to plunge into her mouth and make it his. Make her his. His alone and his forever.

He was speaking in low, guttural grunts before he realized it. "B'longs to me. This is mine."

She gasped in reply, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip hard enough to make him growl. She was shaking all over, pulling at his shirt mindlessly until her hands traveled to the buttons.

"Mr. Solomons," she breathed against his mouth. "Would you please…"

"Anything, love," he muttered. She was unable to reply for a moment, because her tongue was between his lips as he gently suckled.

"Would you please remove my knickers?"

That brought him up short, like a bucket of icy water. He didn't know why; he'd had plenty of women before, willing women who had wanted him and that he'd taken because of their want. But to hear such a request from this woman, for whom he developed an odd affection, and a urge to protect and take care of, completely blindsided him.

"What?" he said gruffly. "What did you say?"

"You heard what I said," she breathed back, her eyes opening a crack to meet his. "Please…"

The hand in her hair gripped tighter. "Think about what you're askin' for, darling. Think through the rum. You're askin' me to take you."

"Yes."

His eyes narrowed. "You sure about that? You're sure you want that?" His other hand, now on her thigh, squeezed down tight. "You sure can take it?" There was a note of challenge in his voice, but he wanted to catch her attention and make her think about what she was saying.

Her eyes went hazy with lust. "Mr. Solomons. Alfie. _Take me._"

It was as if a bomb went off inside his head. He leaned in and captured her lips, harder this time, while his hands shoved her skirt up her thighs. He hooked a hand under each knee and yanked them apart, pulling her to the edge of the desk. She let out a soft, gasping little whine, her thighs opening for him and her legs hooking around his hips.

Deliberately, he unhooked her garter straps from her stockings, his fingers brushing the silk of her thighs above the silk of the stockings. He ran his hands up and down her legs, looking into her eyes and at her mouth and her heaving breasts beneath their thin blouse and the soft, white lace-covered mound between her thighs. He reached under her skirt and grabbed the edges of her knickers, sliding them over her hips when she lifted them off the surface of the desk to help him, and ran them slowly down her legs until they dropped to the floor.

Her breath was coming faster, her large eyes fixed on him. Her thighs were still parted and she was bared to him now, her feminine flesh exposed for him to see and covered in a thatch of neatly trimmed black hair. He'd never seen a woman's mound trimmed before and it only made him hungrier for her. He ran his fingers over her, feeling her slicked in thick moisture. He clenched his jaw.

She tipped her head back as he stroked her, gasping softly at the feeling of his fingers on her. She was telling the truth about being aroused, he saw, staring at her face and then her mound and back and forth as he touched her. She was swollen and wet and he was willing to bet ol' Greggy-boy had never made her feel like this before.

There was a little nub of flesh, almost like a magic little button on a woman, at the top of her sex and it was growing harder under his finger with every swipe. Lillie moaned softly each time he touched it, and grew wetter, and began to lift her hips a little with every stroke of his finger.

"That's it," he whispered, his mouth hovering over hers so that their lips touched. "You like it, don't you?"

"Yes," she breathed back, and he smelled sweetness and rum. He licked into her mouth, his fingers moving faster. "I can feel it…"

He kept his mouth over hers, listening intently as her sighs turned to gasps, which turned into moans, and then finally, she let out a strangled cry, her body convulsing. The little button of flesh beneath his fingers was covered in wetness and pulsing quickly. He stroked her lightly until her breathing slowed and her body began to twitch and pull away from his touch.

He dipped his fingers lower, marveling at how damp she was. He slid a finger into her folds, feeling her warmth immediately close around him. He could only imagine how sweet it would feel with his cock and not his finger inside her, and he shuddered. His member was achingly hard in his trousers, excited beyond belief, and he felt trickles of his own essence weeping from his tip as he touched her. He added another finger, stroking her firmly and slowly from the inside and she moaned and shook against him.

"Are you ready for me?" he murmured. He kissed her, slipping his tongue between her lips. "D'you want to feel me? Feel a real man, love?"

"Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, please, now."

He reached down and unbuttoned his trousers, and his cock sprang out, and he felt immediate relief though not the relief he craved. He gripped himself, watching her as she looked down at it.

"It's – different," she said, almost awestruck. "It's so large. I – it looks so smooth. There's no skin at the top. Can I touch it?"

She didn't wait for an answer, reaching down to stroke him, and he clenched his jaw against the rush of pleasure. He was Jewish, so circumcision was customary for baby boys. Perhaps her dead husband hadn't been cut or sized generously, the way he was, which was why she was so taken with it, but the feeling of her gentle fingers sliding along him was driving him mad.

He gently removed her hand. "Any more of that, love, and this will be over I've 'ad the chance to give you what you want." He smiled devilishly at her, leaning in nip her bottom lip. "'Ope you're ready for this. It's been too long for me and I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Come 'ere, sweet girl."

He pulled her closer and aligned himself to her entrance. He stroked his tip through her moisture, feeling the way it slicked him with warmth, and was unable to suppress a low, rumbling groan of pleasure. He met her gaze as he began to push his way in, his size stretching her, and she gasped sharply. He was about to stop, afraid of hurting her, but she grabbed his arm to pull him closer, encouraging him to continue. He moved his hips until he was all the way seated inside her, holding onto both of her thighs, and they both let out moans of pleasure.

He looked down at her, struggling to regulate his breathing, and saw that her knees were around his hips, her weight braced on her hands behind her. Her eyes were dark with lust, flashing with urgent need. He thought he'd never seen a lovelier sight and was briefly amused by how the evening was turning out; he'd made a deal with Sabini for one night with Lillie, and he'd had no intention of actually pursuing that night. And yet, they'd found themselves here anyway.

He began to move his hips with sure, smooth strokes. He realized he should probably try to be gentler, given that it sounded like it had been a long bloody time since she'd had a man, but then he couldn't get his hips to comply. She was so warm and wet and tight, he felt like he was losing his mind.

"Never 'ad anything as sweet and wet as you, love," he said through gritted teeth, thrusting hard in and out of her. "Tell me how you feel now."

Her head was thrown back, her hips slow at finding the rhythm but staying right with him when she did find it. She met each of his thrusts with her own, and they were both getting so frantic that her hips were leaving the surface of the desk with each one.

"I feel as though I'm going to die from pleasure," she gasped quietly. "I never imagine it could feel like this..."

He reached out and cupped the back of her head, making her lift it to meet his eyes as he moved into her intently. He was nearing the end of his rapidly fraying rope, which normally wasn't a problem, but he desperately wanted her to find release with him. She deserved it, this beautiful, sad, heartbreaking creature. She deserved to be treated like a queen and have a real man show her what it was to feel cared for and worshipped and secure. And now that he had made her climax once with his fingers, it was an image he would never forget and he wanted to hear her sweet voice crying out, feel her lovely, soft little body shake against his, to milk his own pleasure from his body with hers.

"Come, darling," he growled. "Give in. Give in to me, you gorgeous creature, and let me show you how good it can be…"

Suddenly she arched against him, crying out, and he felt the rhythmic milking pulse of her insides as her muscles clamped down tight around him. It was so intensely pleasurable that he could do nothing to fight his own release then and he bore down on her with a roar, filling her with himself as his seed throbbed out of him.

He leaned forward to rest his sweaty forehead on her shoulder, feeling her hands all over his back as he caught his breath and waited for his pulse to slow. Normally he would immediately withdraw from a woman, and send her on her way or leave himself, but he couldn't bear to part from her warmth. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, finding hers filled with satisfaction and a little uncertainty. _Such a bloody gorgeous thing, _he thought, and leaned down to kiss her mouth.

He finally pulled out of her, tucking himself back into his trousers as she sat up slowly. Her cheeks were flushed and he suddenly realized she might be feeling terribly immodest and embarrassed. He set his jaw. She had just gotten something that she obviously desperately needed, had needed for years, and he refused to let her withdraw from _him._

"Come 'ere," he said, and without a word pulled her up into his arms and sat down in the chair by the fire, with her in his lap, facing him. Her skirt was still bunched around her waist, her backside exposed, but he couldn't help his hands from running over the smooth, rounded globes of flesh that felt so enticing. She sat with her hands on his shoulders, a little smile on her lips, but she wouldn't look at him.

"Look at me, love," he said quietly, and when she did, he leaned up and took her mouth with his. "Do you feel all right, little bird?"

"I feel…too wonderful for words," she said softly.

"Good. Let's share a cup of tea, yeah?"

She twisted in his lap to pour out a cup, no longer piping hot but warm still from the fire, and turned, offering him the first sip. He watched her drink, and then motioned for her to set the cup down. He could feel it creeping over him; an almost animal-like passion that told him he wasn't fully sated yet. And amazingly, he felt his cock start to twitch again.

He pulled her head down, immediately latching onto the warmth of her lips and tongue. She responded voraciously, as if he had somehow woken a little beast inside her as well. Her fingers twisted in his hair and her hips unconsciously ground down against his.

"Something tells me," he said huskily against her lips, "we ain't gonna be sleepin' much tonight."

"If I'm leaving in the morning, I never want to forget this night," she whispered back.

Alfie pulled her mouth eagerly back to his. There was nothing left to say, then, he thought, accepting her hungry, greedy kisses and giving her his own. Nothing left to say except goodbye in the morning.

But for now…it was still night.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Um. This is all NSFW. Every last bit of this. Enjoy. xoxo**

**Chapter 7**

In the span of a day – really, in the span of thirty earth-shattering minutes – Lillie had become someone else entirely.

Had she always been this way? She pondered this vaguely as she lost herself in Alfie's mouth, his large hands gripping and squeezing her bare backside. Or had she become this wanton, lusty creature for the first time tonight, here in his arms? Though the experience was new, it felt right, as though she'd been born to feel this way and had somehow kept it under wraps all these years. She felt she belonged here, in his arms, on his lap, kissing him in a way that her grandmother surely would have found and described as "whorish" and "sinful".

And it felt amazing.

Her sensitive feminine flesh ached deeply from the stretch of his size and from having been without a man for so long. But it was a sensation she welcomed, because everything that came along with it had completely changed her. The first moment his mouth had landed on hers, she knew she was done for. It wasn't the rum. If anything, the rum merely served as a conduit for her to more quickly realize her desires. And one of those desires that she had never known she'd had was to be claimed bodily by a man, to have a man play her body like a fine-tuned instrument and make her feel things she never could have imagined in her wildest dreams, or her most wanton fantasies. She had touched herself on occasion and brought herself release, so she was no stranger to that feeling. But achieving it at the hands of an ardent and attentive lover was something else entirely, and an experience that she had never had before.

It was strange to find herself in this place with him now. If she were to be honest – with herself most of all – she had found Alfie Solomons incredibly appealing the moment she walked into that back room earlier that afternoon and saw him for the first time. His handsome face, his beard, his voice, his confident manner, his piercing gaze, his body – it was all _man_ and he made her feel very _woman_. It was base, it was primal, it was electric in its animalism. It was almost too much to handle, and she had done all she could do at first to convince herself he was repugnant. But that act of kindness, that simple act of giving her the very thing she wanted most of all – a ticket home – had made the veil drop and she had stopped lying to herself in that moment. She wanted him, and that was all right. It was acceptable, and she would have him.

And it would seem, she thought, wiggling in his lap, that he was very open to her decision to stop that lying. He was fully hard again now, that thick, strangely smooth staff of flesh that had brought her so much pleasure was rubbing against her femininity. Her insides ached, and then throbbed with need.

It would be a very long night, indeed.

"You're a fuckin' goddess," he muttered to her, his fingers tight in her hair. "I'm ready for you, darling." He grasped her bottom hard enough to make her squeal, teething at her throat. "Come, sit on it. Sit on it and possess all the control."

She shuddered at his words. Possess all the control? She'd never done that before. She felt his fingers brush her mound, felt her wetness all over his fingers. Then she felt his thick, warm blunt tip at her soaked entrance, felt it push up inside her. There was a burst of pain, sharp enough to make her cry out, and then he was filling her, and the pain went away. She lost her breath for a moment, feeling him practically in her belly, and she sat still.

"Come, love," he murmured, pulling gently at her hips. "Just like ridin' a horse. Ride me, love, and get just what you need." He hissed a breath between his teeth as she began to slowly move her hips. "Yes, that's it, darling. Yes."

Her hips rolled slowly up and then back, imagining that she was in fact on the back of a stallion and imagining how her hips would move. And with every down-thrust she felt a silvery tingle of hot pleasure burst from between her legs. She let out a soft moan.

He was watching her closely, his eyes hooded. "Take off your blouse, my love. I want to see you."

The old Lillie's modesty would have been outraged. The wanton woman that now lived inside her didn't miss a beat, hips still rolling, as she reached for the edge of her blouse. She pulled it from her skirt and pulled it over head, following it with the slip she wore against her body underneath it. Her brassiere came next, but only after catching his gaze with her own and holding it, and slowly pulling the garment from her body. His hands slid up her bare torso, his large palms spanning the width of her narrow abdomen, and he gently cupped her full breasts in his hands. Her pale olive skin glowed in the firelight, and her rosebud-pink nipples, soft in the heat from the fire, grew hard the moment his thumbs swiped over them.

His eyes fastened on them intently, his pupils dilating. He tilted his head to catch one in his mouth and she gasped in surprise at the sensation. Gregory had never done this to her before. She had heard of it from her prostitute friends, had heard it was quite pleasurable if you had a man that was gentle with his mouth. And Alfie Solomons knew how to handle her flesh. He licked and suckled and squeezed, and it was as though there was an invisible nerve in her body that connected her nipples with her sex, because her hips suddenly began to move faster against him.

He grunted, still holding onto her breasts, one of her nipples sliding from his mouth as she began to move more frantically. "D'you like that, sweet thing?"

"Yes," she breathed back. One of his hands slipped to her back to pull her closer and the other guided a breast back to his lips and tongue. Her mouth fell open at the sensation, and the tingle between her legs morphed into all-encompassing warmth in her lower belly. There was also a sensation of tightening, like a violin string. It was twisting tighter and tighter, and it would be inevitable that it would break…

"Oh, _Alfie,_" she keened hoarsely, and the tension shattered. She shuddered on top of him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as waves of pleasure, hot and piercing, rolled over her. She was barely aware of his hands gripping her bottom again, guiding her hips into the motion he wanted them to take. Every roll of her hips on him sent another ripple of pleasure through her, and she thought she would die of cardiac arrest right there on top of him.

"_Mm,_" he grunted beneath her, staring up at her intently. "You're beautiful, Lillie-bird. Never more beautiful than when you are at the height of your pleasure. Tell me 'ow you love it."

She struggled for breath, flipping her long hair off her sweaty face. "I love it," she whispered shakily. "You do this to me…Alfie…"

He pulled her hips faster against him, and she realized with a start that she was just sitting there on top of him. She looked down at him, and realized that she wanted to be the one to make him find his pleasure, all by herself. She removed his hands from her bottom and placed them on her breasts again, and then she held onto the back of the chair, and began to ride him for all she was worth.

His eyes hazed out with lust and his mouth went slack as he stared up at her. One hand slipped to her waist but he didn't need to encourage the movement of her hips at all. She sat on him, taking him as deeply as she could, grinding down hard, and gradually she felt his grip turn vise-like on her flesh as a deep groan rumbled in his chest.

"Lillie," he grunted. "Sweet – little bird –"

With a snarl he finished, his chest heaving as pleasure consumed him. His eyes rolled back and his teeth sank into his lush bottom lip. His fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to leave a mark. But she wanted him to mark her. It was the only way she would know, tomorrow, that tonight had been real.

Because tomorrow she would be leaving him.

Gradually his breathing slowed, and his hands loosened upon her skin, stroking up and down her bare back soothingly. They smoothed over her hair and then she felt his lips on her chest, moving to her collarbones and then brushing the soft hollow spot at the base of her throat. He made a noise of contentment deep in the back of his throat.

"You 'ungry, love?" he asked softly, his lips still grazing her skin. "You must be. It's no easy feat, ridin' this stallion like you done."

There was a teasing note in his tone, and Lillie smiled. "I suppose I am."

"'Ere." He helped her off him and she stood on wobbly legs, self-consciously folding her arms over her bare chest as he stood slowly, his back to her. He arranged his clothing, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"I'll fetch us somethin' to eat. You stay 'ere. In fact –"

He swept up the blanket that he had given her earlier and laid it down on the floor in front of the fireplace. He picked up the poker and frowned, poking the logs until they crackled and sparked anew. He pulled another blanket from one of his cabinets and laid it on top of the first. Then he gestured to the floor.

"Make yourself comfortable, love. I'll be right back." He stepped up to her and pulled her close against his body. His eyes roamed her face, down to her neck and bosom, and back up before he leaned in and kissed her. His beard tickled her face and then she felt the soft stroke of his tongue against hers.

"When I come back," he said quietly, "I want to see you out of your clothin'. Waitin' for me. Yeah?"

"Yes," she whispered back, shivering against him. "Would you –" She broke off, slightly embarrassed.

"What d'you want, love?"

"Could I have a bowl of water, and perhaps a cloth?" she murmured.

He nodded and quickly kissed her again, then turned for the door. He shut and locked it securely behind him, and Lillie took the moment to sink down on the chair they had just vacated. Her knees still wobbled, and her entire body felt limp and weak, but she couldn't contain a smile. She felt indescribably satisfied, and she knew that he hadn't even unleashed a fraction of himself upon her.

That was still to come. She shuddered with anticipation.

The door opened, and he appeared, holding a medium-sized bowl of water and a small cloth in one hand. "For the lady," he said with a slightly mocking smile. "I'll be back again."

She nodded her thanks as he left, and used the cloth to clean herself a little. The water was warm and felt delightful on her aching flesh, and she cleaned up the sticky trails, the evidence of their coupling, from between her thighs.

As he had requested, she removed her skirt, garter belt, and stockings, folding them up neatly with her blouse, slip and brassiere and placing them near the fire to stay warm. She lowered herself to the blankets, the warmth from the fire feeling delicious on her skin. She used the top blanket to cover herself.

When she heard the key in the lock again, she remembered that he had said he wanted to see her, so she let the blanket fall away as he entered the room, his gaze finding her immediately and darkening. He held the tray in his hands and carried it over to the table slowly.

"A right fuckin' goddess," he repeated quietly.

He knelt down beside her, reaching out a hand to touch her naked flesh. She held perfectly still, lying on her side, as his hand stroked down the side of her body, following its curves almost reverently. The tips of his fingers grazed her smooth skin and left a path of tingles in their wake.

He met her gaze and leaned over her, brushing hair away from her face. "Would you like somethin' to eat, love?"

Her fingers played at the neck of his shirt. She could just see a light patch of hair, the same color as his hair and beard, over the top of it and wondered what it would feel like against her naked skin. "I am hungry," she replied quietly, trailing her fingers up the side of his face. "But not yet for food."

His eyes darkened even more and he rose to his feet. She stared up at him as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a heavily muscled torso and the hulking, broad shoulders she had been unable to stop looking at all day. He reached for his pants and undid them, pulling them down his legs. Though they had coupled twice already, she could see the way it was growing.

"Aye, me too," he replied, kneeling down again and moving over her, pushing her gently to her back. "There is somethin' that could sate me, though."

Her pulse accelerated as he pulled her thighs apart and moved down her body until his head hovered over her hips. Her eyes went wide.

"What – what are you doing?" she asked tremulously. It was a silly question, as it was clear what he intended to do, but it had never been done to her before, though she'd heard of it from her friends and in the brothel.

His gaze was focused steadily between her legs. "Preparin' to satisfy my 'unger, sweetling."

"You – you mean to put your mouth upon me?"

"Aye." His hands ran up her legs, stroking softly as he smiled at her in a way that made her toes curl. "And my tongue, if I'm a lucky lad. Now, 'ush."

He leaned down as he pushed her thighs even further apart and she stared with wide eyes at the ceiling. She felt his warm breath gust over mound and then, she felt something soft and warm and wet slick over her flesh and she gasped in shock.

Immediately her nerve-endings flared to life. It was like nothing she had ever felt before; softer and less direct pressure than his fingers, and a thousand times more erotic because it was his mouth, his hot, moist mouth, and it was pulling and sucking and licking her torturously slowly. He moved as if she was his last meal and he wanted to savor every morsel of her.

She became aware that he was making noises, soft, deep grunts of satisfaction. She opened her eyes and glanced down, and saw him looming over her, his eyes closed in concentration and his head moving with his intent to taste every part of her. It was clear that the act was as satisfactory to him as it was to her, and she wondered if he had forgotten that she was even there.

As if he could hear her thoughts his eyes opened and found hers, watching him. She saw the corners of his lips turn up in a naughty smile as he reached for one of her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipple to an even more prominent point. His tongue never slowed as he touched and stroked her skin. The heat that was building from between her legs went scorching when she felt his tongue burrow inside of her before withdrawing and finding the little nub of pure pleasure at the top of her mound. Then she felt one of his large fingers part her and enter her, and he began stroking her insides as lavishly as he attended to her exterior.

She quickly lost control over her senses, moaning softly, her hips moving as though they had a mind of their own. She reached down blindly, grasping a fistful of his hair, and lost herself in the sensations. The heat coiled tighter and tighter, and hotter, and his tongue kept sliding against her deliciously, and then she hurtled off the peak of pleasure and spasmed, pulling his face against her, grinding her hips against his mouth. She moaned shakily, feeling his hand tighten on her breast as he continued to lick her, more gently now, bringing her through the climax until she squirmed.

She was still trying to catch her breath when his shadow fell over her. She looked up and found him hovering above her. She looked down his body and realized that he must have enjoyed what he'd just done to her very much indeed, because, amazingly, his manhood was at its optimum length and girth, and he stared down at her with a hungry gleam in his eye.

This position was the one she was well acquainted with, because this was always how Gregory wanted to have her. But as Alfie began to lower himself to her, Lillie had a feeling that this time it was going to be very different.

She wasn't mistaken; Alfie began sliding into her as though he was born to do it, and then his large frame covered her, his hands in her hair. Her knees were up around his ribs and the thought of having so much raw male force on top of her and between her thighs made her shiver. He filled her completely, stretching her anew, and he lowered his mouth to her ear.

"Taste just like a sweetie," he murmured. "Like honey. And tight as a fist. You're as delicious as I knew you would be, love. 'Ave a taste of yourself, for me."

Before she could move he slipped his tongue between her lips. She tasted a distinctive flavor, something unfamiliar and yet wholly, recognizably female. She latched onto his mouth, and he canted his hips back and began to move into her.

It was nothing like her time with Gregory. He had never been so ardent and attentive, so confident and sure in his movements, so deliberate with his thrusts. It was as though every move of his body was designed and executed with her in mind; he would thrust in and roll his hips up slightly, and it was as if he knew that action would cause the blunt tip of his cock to rub that sweet, spongy little nub of sensitive nerve-endings inside her and push her closer to the intense release that was steadily building inside her. His body on top of hers, his insistent mouth, and his talented hands were all steadily driving her more and more mad.

How could she leave this? How could she walk away in the morning, never see him again? He was marking her each time they coupled; marking her with pieces of himself both tangible and intangible that would stay with her for a long, long time. Possibly forever.

_I can't be falling in love,_ she thought, moaning desperately as his hips moved faster, plunging deeper. She felt his hands tighten on her, felt his body press closer to hers, heard his unintelligible mumblings in her ear, heard the way he called her "darling" and "lovely" and "his little beautiful bird". He was a criminal, a violent, murdering criminal, she reminded herself. He only sought to give her pleasure and take his own, she convinced herself. He wasn't giving himself over to her, nor was he claiming her. Claiming her forever.

_You're behaving like a whore, _she told herself, clutching him closer and wrapping her legs around him. That action only served to drive him mad with desire, because he began slamming into her, one hand closing around her throat with a gentle squeeze, not nearly enough to hurt her. Only to send a message; _you are mine. _

But she wasn't his, she thought, accepting his mouth when it landed on hers. She wasn't his, and he would never claim her. She was behaving like a common piece of trash, allowing a man to bed her after a few hours of meeting him – and the circumstances under which she met him only made things worse. She didn't want to love him, or love the way his hands felt tight on her body, the way he had brought her blinding pleasure, didn't want to love his strength and his power. It wasn't possible anyway, she told herself, beginning to gasp as she felt her climax build. She didn't know him to love him.

She tipped back her head and wailed as it barreled into her. She could feel their bodies slick with sweat as they slid against each other, hot from the fire next to them. She opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, his jaw clenched tight as he moved with increasing speed and force. She reached up to cup his face between her hands, staring up at him, and his eyes fell shut against her touch. They stayed that way as he finished with deep groan, pressing her hard into the floor.

Exhaustion got the better of them and they both fell asleep, with him still inside her. After some timeless time, her eyes opened to the feeling of sudden chilliness, and she realized he had withdrawn from her body, was awake and pulling the tray down to the blankets. She yawned and stretched, sitting up as he gave her a half-smile and held out a cup of tea. It was cooled considerably, but it was still thirst-quenching, and she drank two cups greedily.

He made her eat bread and kosher meat and cheese, and she had no idea how hungry she was until she began to eat. She noted distantly how she felt no apprehension about being naked before him now; she felt completely at ease, and the feeling was only compounded when he reached over to stroke her thigh or her back every now and then, as if he couldn't resist touching her.

After their snack, when he had made sure she'd had enough to eat and drink, he moved the tray out of the way and leaned toward her. She saw that he was ready for her again. She felt her own insides ache at the sight even as they clenched and rippled with lust.

"You are insatiable," she said softly as his mouth landed on her neck.

"For you," he mumbled into her skin. "Can't get enough of you. And you're about to walk right out of me life…"

His mouth moved to hers, but she wondered if that was regret she heard in his voice. Perhaps he didn't want her to leave, either.

His lips traveled across her cheek to her ear. "Told you we wasn't gonna get any sleep tonight. I want you again, love."

"Then take me," she murmured back.

He stroked her cheek. "Will you turn over for me?"

She looked at him. "Turn over?"

"On your hands and knees."

She was doubtful, but she didn't want to refuse him. Slowly she turned and got on all fours, then looked over her shoulder at him. He was watching her, one hand stroking his manhood. His lush bottom lip was between his teeth.

"Mm," he said, the noise rumbling deep in his chest. "Yes. That's it, love. My sweet little bird." He moved behind her and her heart pounded with anticipation. She'd naturally never done this before, had never even considered this a feasible position in which to copulate, but something about the animalism of the position, the primalness of it, excited her deeply.

She felt his hands run up the backs of her thighs and over the rounded slope of her bottom, squeezing the flesh tightly. She felt his fingers slide through her folds, slick with excitement, before she felt his thick tip there, straining for entry for the fourth time.

Her jaw fell open as he worked his way inside her; from this angle, everything felt so much tighter, so much more intense, and she couldn't contain a cry as he finally slid all the way inside. His hands came to her hips, squeezing eager handfuls.

"That's right, love," he growled, beginning to slide slowly in and out of her. "You're gonna love this."

She cried out softly every time he bottomed out inside her. His hands pulled at her hips until they were tilted up and back, her back arched deeply, her thighs spread wide. She knew she must make quite the wanton picture, posed this way before him, but he seemed to love it, almost snarling with pleasure as he took her.

She felt one of his hands slide up her back to tangle in her long dark hair. He began to tug, and her head tilted back with the movements. It was so erotic she moaned louder; she felt like some primal female in a dank cave, her male claiming her and taking her because she belonged to him. Perhaps that was an offensive thought to a well-bred lady, but tonight, she was nothing of the sort. She felt like a sinful, lusty whore – one that belonged in totality to the man behind her, taking her with increasing force, and she loved it. She was his to be dominated, his to submit to, his for him to stake his claim to, even if it was just for this one night.

She felt it building again, that familiar scorching feeling of pleasure from within. She moaned, and he let out a corresponding grunt, tugging harder on her hair. "That's right, darling," he said behind her. "I want to hear it. Want to hear you. I can feel you tightening up like a fuckin' fist on me –"

It hit her like sledgehammer, that all-consuming tidal wave of pleasure, and her back bowed under the sensation, her thighs quivering. She was sure the entire bakery could hear her screams of pleasure, and knew that Alfie had to be aware of this as well, but if anything it only spurred him on. He shoved her forward onto her stomach, even as she was still shaking and pulsing around him wildly, and slammed into her rapidly, over and over, until she felt the sting of his teeth nipping into her flesh and heard his feral grunt in her ear. He pressed himself as far into her as he could go and she could actually feel his cock throbbing inside her.

She felt absolutely spent, and stayed where she was on her stomach. He stayed on top of her and she could feel the wild, galloping beat of his heart against her back. After a moment she felt his lips press against her neck.

"'Ope I didn't nip you too 'ard," he murmured in her ear. "Got a little…excited there at the end. You are fuckin' incredible, love."

She could only make a murmuring noise of pleasure in her throat, which turned into a whine when he got up from her. He shushed her quietly and grabbed his long black overcoat from the coat rack and returned to her.

Without a word he wrapped her body in the coat and then pulled her against his chest, holding onto her tight. She was shocked at the tender gesture, and the sleepiness that had been stealing over her vanished for a moment while she stared into the distance, her mind whirling.

She could sense he was awake too, and turned to look at him over her shoulder. She found him staring at her, his eyes wide open. They held each other's gazes for a long time, and finally, he sighed. It almost sounded defeated.

"Go to sleep, my lovely little bird," he said to her quietly. "And I'll be right here. Ain't got much time 'til I've got to set the bird free from 'er cage."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Well, hello there! Remember me? Gah. So very sorry for the long delay. Life has been crazy lately, but not in a bad way. Just have been swamped with inconvenient things like life and work.**

**I can't believe the amount of reviews this little story has gotten. I appreciate all of them so much. I'm so happy that so many of you have liked this story, and thanks to those of you who have told me where I can watch Season 2! You know, I think it might be on Netflix by now, too. I didn't read anything regarding the season finale, so hopefully, Alfie is still alive and will make an appearance next season. Otherwise, we're going to have a certain heartbroken woman on our hands...**

**Please enjoy this chapter as we wrap things up with this little peek into the Peaky Blinders world. I have to say that I immensely enjoyed writing Alfie, and I REALLY enjoyed writing Tommy Shelby. I had to put in a little tiny bit of sexual tension between him and Lillie, although nothing will come of it. :-)**

**Thanks to everyone for hanging on and being patient with me! To paraphrase Drake, "shout-out to my bitches out here holdin' down the set." Love you guys! **

**Chapter 8**

The morning came much too soon.

Alfie hadn't slept more than an hour here and there, content to lie in the darkness all night and hold onto the lovely creature that had come into his life so unexpectedly. Over the course of a day his life had changed so dramatically, and he had no way of knowing where it would all end.

And through all of the change, he'd have to set his pretty little bird free.

She was still snuggled in tight to his side. Sleep had claimed her easily, and though she slumbered deeply, she did not move away from him during the course of the night. Not that she would have been able to, anyway; he held her close against him, his hands touching her hair and her face and whatever skin he could find.

He'd have to wake her up shortly to go to the train station and send her on her way before Sabini became the wiser that Alfie was not going to hold up his part of their bargain. He figured he'd tell Sabini that she got away from him during the middle of the night while he'd been sleeping. He would have preferred to tell Sabini the truth, that Alfie had happily sent her away and effectively removed Sabini's only source of real joy, but there was no point in riling the Italian before Shelby got his letter. It was exhausting, trying to keep up with who was double-crossing whom. To be sure, he didn't trust Shelby as far as he could throw him, but they had a common enemy. And after Sabini was overthrown, as long as Shelby stayed in Birmingham and left Alfie to control London, he couldn't see where they'd have a problem. And after Alfie's very thoughtful warning he was sending with Lillie, Shelby would be indebted to him.

He felt the small body along his side shifting and glanced down, brushing her hair off her face. "Good mornin', lovely," he said.

"Good morning," she replied sleepily, then shot up to her arm. "Is it morning now?"

Alfie half-smiled and reached up to touch her cheek. "Very early morning."

"Oh." She settled back down, her head in the crook of his shoulder. "Well, then."

He sighed. "We've got to get you to the train station, love. Before dawn. You must go to Birmin'ham. Remember?" He felt her nod against him.

"Yes. I just – I wish there was a little more time." Her fingers stroked his chest gently.

He closed his eyes. "It was just for one night, darling."

She lifted her head, pushing herself up until she was on one elbow and looking down into his face. The fire illuminated her large eyes as they stared into his.

"It might have been for one night, Mr. Solomons, but it was a night that I shall never forget," she said quietly.

He stared back, and after a moment he lifted a hand to pull her head down. Their lips met in a kiss that began softly and quickly grew to something far hungrier; it was slow, but deep, and full of heat and need. In a matter of seconds, he felt his cock swell to its full size, and despite the fact that there was an urgent task to complete this morning, he was helpless to move. He reached down to pull her on top of him by her hips.

"Once more, love," he whispered hoarsely against her mouth. "Please."

He was inside her before he had finished speaking and the feeling of her sweet, moist, tight heat enveloping him made him clench his jaw and growl with pleasure. Her soft gasp filled his ears like sweet music and he prodded her hips into a slow, deep grind, keeping her flat against him, her chest pressed to his and their mouths touching.

"You are the sweetest thing I've ever had," he mumbled against her lips. "Never 'ad nothin' sweeter than you."

He gripped her hips tightly when she moaned quietly in his ear, and thrust his hips up, desperate to be as deep inside her as he could manage. It couldn't be the last time, he told himself, his lips finally claiming hers, feeling her thick, sweet cream coating him. He couldn't imagine having another woman after her, and the thought of another man laying a hand on her made him momentarily sick with jealous rage.

All of this, after one night.

"You're mine, love," he muttered, pushing her hips to move faster on him. She held herself up, her breasts dangling in his face and he tilted his head to catch one in his mouth, teething her nipple until she cried out. "You b'long to me, little bird."

"Alfie," she breathed, then moaned again.

He wanted her to scream. He flipped her over suddenly onto her back, staring down intensely into her surprised eyes. His hips began to pound into her brutally, and her fingers tightened on his arms. They would leave marks, and he welcomed them.

"Mine," he growled. "I'm going to come for you. Wait for me." He felt a spurt of wet warmth from her and took pleasure in it, as he did when she finally let out a low scream of ecstasy. "Tell me. Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," she gasped, her legs locking around his hips, and her own lifting to meet his every thrust. "Yours. I'll wait for you."

He tilted his head into her neck, feeling her velvet walls begin to tighten and pulse around him. It was too much, the pleasure too strong, the overwhelming feeling of emotions that were foreign to him sweeping him under the tide.

She was his beautiful rare bird, and he was making her fly away from him, but she would wait. She would wait.

"How long?" she whispered beneath him, her hands coming to cradle his face. "How long until you come to me?"

He had no answer for that, because he didn't know. He would have to watch his every step, because after he sent Lillie away this morning, he would be a dead man walking as far as Darby Sabini was concerned.

"Soon's possible, lovely," he murmured back. "I can't be without this, without you, for long. You've ruined me."

She moaned again beneath him, and he felt it coming over him. He grunted, his hips moving even faster and harder, the sound of skin slapping together filling the room. Suddenly he felt her nails rake across his shoulders, felt her clamp down around him like a vise, felt her body coil up tight and then shudder with release, heard her shaky cry of pleasure in his ear.

It was too much, but he didn't have to hang on any longer. With a stifled roar into her neck he plummeted off the cliff of all-consuming pleasure behind her, burying himself in her as deeply as he could manage, wondering vaguely if it was possible to split a woman in half by doing so. Her body milked him of everything he had and he was helpless to do anything but strain into her, feeling his cock throbbing violently into her heat.

He struggled to catch his breath, and was loathe to remove himself from her warm embrace. He considered all he had said to her in the heat of their passion, and wondered if he was a fool.

Then he decided he wasn't.

He smoothed her hair from her forehead and stared down at her. "You will wait for me," he said, almost commandingly. "You will go to France, back to your 'ome. And I will come to you."

She nodded, staring up at him, eyes wide. "Please don't make me wait long. I – if I have ruined you, you have certainly destroyed me."

He smiled. "Then there can be no others for either one of us. To think – if you would have kept your lips to yourself, none of this would 'ave 'appened. We'd both be better off, eh?"

"Would we?" she asked softly, reaching up to caress his upper lip with her fingers. "I'd still be lonely and miserable. And you…you would still be in denial."

"Denial of what, lovely?" he murmured.

"Denial of the fact that you need the love of a good woman to sustain you."

He chuckled, but it was a rare laugh that was devoid of mockery. "Maybe I was. Maybe I just needed you and all of this sweetness to sustain me."

They lay together quietly for a while longer, and then Alfie sighed. He didn't need to check his pocketwatch or the clock on the wall to know that they needed to be on their way. They dressed silently and he slipped her coat over her shoulders and handed her her hat. He donned his own coat and hat, and then he led her out silently into the dark early morning. He was tempted to fetch a carriage, but the depot wasn't far from the bakery and they could stick to the shadows in case anyone was watching.

As they exited the bakery through the back, Alfie paused as he noticed the contents of the bread basket he had presented Sabini, and the basket itself, tossed haphazardly to the ground in a puddle. The breads were a sorry, soggy pile of mush by now, but Alfie took the gesture for what it was – this was no accident. Sabini's man hadn't tripped and spilled the contents. The peace offering had been flung there with contempt, and the meaning was all too plain.

War it would be, then.

At the depot, he purchased her a ticket. Birmingham was not the ticket's final destination, but it would be a stop along the way, and she wouldn't be getting back on the train. No, Shelby was going to transport her to the ship that would take her to France, and he would do it with care, and if one silky dark strand of hair on her head was damaged, Alfie would take it out of Shelby's flesh personally. With a knife.

They made it just in time. The train conductor was standing near the entrance to the train, his hands cupped about his mouth. "All aboard!"

Alfie turned to Lillie, and found her staring intensely at him. He pulled a thick wad of bills out of his pocket and handed them to her, with a slip of paper. "This should be enough for boat fare, meals, clothing, and a room somewhere in your town for a few nights. When you arrive, send a telegram to this address to let me know you're there, and I'll send you more money. I want you to find a home, get settled."

She nodded. "I know I can get work in town."

He nodded. "Good." He next pulled the letter to Tommy Shelby out of his pocket and reached for her gloved hand. "Straight into Shelby's 'and," he said gently. "And no one else's. Remember – tell him all I have told you. Tell him my arrangements for you, and that he will be repaid for any expenses he might incur."

"I will," Lillie replied solemnly, and put the letter in her pocketbook.

"You can find him at this address." He tapped the front of the envelope. "Take a coach as soon as you arrive."

"I will."

"Last call! All aboard!"

Alfie sighed. "You 'ad better be on your way, love."

Her jaw clenched, and her eyes were full of yearning, but she nodded. "Mr. Solomons – thank you for what you are doing for me. For – for setting me free."

She leaned in, placing her hands on his shoulders, and tilted her head. Her lips brushed the skin of his cheek above his beard lightly, and then she stepped away.

"Goodbye," she whispered, and turned toward the train.

Alfie watched her walk away, and a queer empty feeling, as though he were hollow inside, began to overwhelm him. His bird was flying away from him, and he ached because of it. _It was just one night, _he told himself sternly, angrily. _It was just one night, and you knew it would come to this. She's just some random bird. There's plenty more like her._

Except that there weren't.

He was jogging after her before he realized it, and when he caught up to her, he yanked on her elbow. She whirled, her eyes full of surprise, and before she could say anything he pulled her in close and claimed her mouth with his own, careless to the fact that they were in public, though the depot was sparsely populated. He was careless to everything except the feel of her soft, sweet mouth beneath his, her warm body in his arms, and the ridiculous thud of his heart in his chest.

She was breathing shakily when he pulled away. "Wait for me," he said intensely. "I don't know when it will be. But I'll come to you. Wait for me."

"I'll wait," she replied hoarsely. "I'll wait for you, Alfie."

He nodded. "Go, now."

She turned and boarded the train. A moment later she appeared at the window. She lifted her hand, a sad smile on her beautiful face. Alfie swallowed down the ache in his throat, and gave her a cheeky smile as he tipped his hat to her.

He remained there on the platform, long after the train had departed and there was nothing but the memory of her left.

* * *

><p>Tommy Shelby sat in his office in the Garrison, hunched over a rusted old cash box, counting money. Derby Day was fast approaching, and there was an obscene amount of money to be made. There were also other business items to address that day as well, but money was foremost on his mind, as it usually was.<p>

There was a knock on the door. He glanced up. "Come in."

His little sister Ada appeared in the doorway, full of her normal snotty charm. "Tommy, you've a guest here to see you."

Tommy shuffled bills in his hands. "Who is it?"

"A young lady."

His head snapped up. "May?" he asked, hating himself for the urgency in his tone. "Is it May?"

Ada furrowed her brow. "No. Not May. Some other young lady. A Miss Hammersley, I believe she said her name was. Honestly, Tommy, you've more women about you. Perhaps you ought to get into the harem business."

He rolled his eyes. "I know no Miss Hammersley. What does she want?"

"Am I your personal secretary?" Ada shot back impatiently. "I don't know what she wants. She just walked in the door of the pub and asked to speak with you. She's a pretty girl, well-dressed. She's not some urchin off the street. Just see her and stop pestering me."

Ada turned and swept out of the room as Tommy shook his head. His baby sister was a wild one, spirited, and unafraid of her brothers despite the fact they were the most dangerous men in Birmingham, perhaps most of England. She was tough, and she was a brat.

The sound of heels on wood met his ears again, but they were not the rapid, impatient footsteps of his sister. They were slower, more measured. Hesitant.

He looked up, and saw a beautiful young woman in the doorway. He blinked, taking in hair so dark it could be black, large, unsure pale eyes, and a lovely, beautifully shaped lush mouth. He was on his feet in a hurry.

"Hello," he said, walking toward her. He paused as she continued to look at him, unsure of what to say. "Ah. How do you do?"

"Well, thank you," she replied softly. "You don't know me, Mr. Shelby."

"I can't say that I do," he replied. Then he smiled to ease the tension that seemed to be consuming her. "I tend to remember meeting exquisite women."

"I used to work for Darby Sabini," she replied abruptly, completely ignoring his flattery. "My name is Lillie Hammersley."

That brought him up short, and his body immediately tensed. His pistol was in his desk drawer, and he regretted it instantly. Had Sabini sent the woman to assassinate him?

She seemed to register the change in him. She held up a gloved hand. "I mean you no harm, Mr. Shelby. I no longer work for Sabini."

"Who do you work for?" he demanded. "Why are you here?"

"I work for no one," she replied. "And I am here because we have a mutual friend." She glanced over her shoulder, through the opened door behind her, then glanced back at him. "May I come in?"

Tommy frowned. He shut the door, taking care not to turn his back to her. "You'll understand if I wish to check you for weapons."

"There's a blade in my stocking," she replied calmly, lifting her arms in the air.

"Don't move," Tommy warned her, then slipped her coat off her shoulders. She wore a blouse and skirt, both high fashion and ornately tailored. He ran his hands slowly down her sides, over her belly and back. He paused for a moment; he'd never searched a woman before, but he knew that it was commonplace for them to keep things in their brassieres. He didn't want to violate the woman, but at the same time – he didn't want to be caught off guard either.

She seemed amused by his hesitation, as though she knew just why. Boldly, she took his hands and placed them on her breasts. "There's nothing there. See?"

He pulled his hands away quickly, his face flushing. She was telling the truth. He ran his hands over her hips and down her thighs. He knelt, remembering her comment about her blade. She looked down at him, still amused.

"Here, let me," she said softly, and pulled her skirt up to her thighs. Tommy swallowed, his eyes going up the length of the slim, shapely leg in a silk thigh-high gartered stocking. Nestled against one inner thigh was an ivory handled switchblade. He plucked it out and rose to his feet.

"Might find a better hiding place for this," he said, tossing it on his desk and then leaning against it. "Seems to me that if you were in a situation where you would need it, having to yank up that tight skirt to fetch it from your stocking would be a bit of a hindrance."

"Noted," Lillie replied evenly. "Now that you know I'm not here to cause you harm, may I sit?"

Tommy stared at her levelly for a long time, and she gave it right back. "Of course." He gestured to the armchair across from his. "Would you like some tea?"

"No, thank you."

He took his seat behind his desk, subtly moving the cash box into a drawer. He folded his hands. "What can I do for you, Miss Hammersley? Who is this mutual friend you speak of?"

Without a word, Lillie held out her hand. In it was an envelope. Tommy eyed it, then reached for it. He broke the seal and pulled out a letter. He glanced over at her again before he began to read, his eyes skimming the letter.

He read it three times, noting the signature at the bottom each time. Finally he dropped it on the desk. "You are acquainted with Mr. Solomons."

"I am," she said, and her cheeks inexplicably flushed pink. "He sent me to bring you this note."

"It's true, then?" Tommy asked, leaning back in his seat. "Your former employer is planning something?"

"Last night, Sabini came to the bakery that Mr. Solomons uses as a front for his real business," Lillie said. "I'm sure you are acquainted with it."

"I am," Tommy replied, remembering his visit.

"To make a very long story short, Sabini sent me to Mr. Solomons' on an errand yesterday afternoon," Lillie said. "He sent me with an item that Mr. Solomons found highly offensive. I was unaware of the contents of the package, but Mr. Solomons decided to hold me as ransom. Sabini came last night to negotiate for me as he was unable to meet Mr. Solomons' request for ransom. And during those negotiations, he entreated Mr. Solomons to engage you and your gang in war, on his side. Despite your prior arrangements with Mr. Solomons."

"He asked Solomons to betray me," Tommy said abruptly.

"Yes." Lillie nodded. "Of course, Mr. Solomons agreed. But as soon as the meeting was over, he returned to the office where I was being held and had me write you this note. He put me on a train first thing this morning to deliver it to you."

"He kept you overnight?" Tommy asked in confusion, and then realized what he'd said. "I apologize. That was not a chivalrous question."

"It's all right. It was part of the negotiation. I was to be returned to Sabini this morning, but obviously, that will not be happening."

"Will you be staying here in Birmingham, then?" Tommy asked.

"No. Mr. Solomons has further instructions that in exchange for this warning you are to escort me to a ship that will carry me to my home in France. To Marseilles."

Tommy blinked. "A ship to Marseilles?"

"Yes. He is sending me home, unbeknownst to Mr. Sabini."

"Are you so important to Sabini?"

"I was," Lillie replied gravely. "Now, I will probably be a dead woman walking. That is why I need your help."

Tommy gazed at her steadily, his mind whirling. So Sabini believed that he had gotten Solomons to betray him. Yet, the Jew baker had issued Tommy a warning, declaring himself still within the bonds of their alliance. Sabini believed he'd be going to war with the Shelbys with Solomons on his side, but now Tommy knew it would be the Shelbys and Solomons' crew that would smash the Italians.

He sensed there was something deeper going on with the woman. Perhaps she had once been a lover of Sabini's, and Solomons had plucked her. Or perhaps Sabini wanted her to become his lover but she wanted to get away from him. Either way, he knew that the woman was important to Solomons, so important that he would entrust her to a man with whom he had shaky trust and grudging respect at best. And Tommy knew that if he failed to deliver the woman safely to the ship so she could return to her home, he would also become a dead man walking, and Solomons would indeed join with Sabini to bring Tommy and the rest of the Blinders down.

It was clear what he needed to do.

He got to his feet and began to pace. "I will issue a telegram back to Mr. Solomons to let him know that I heed his warning of the surprise party, and will be waiting. He will have my full support. I will also let him know that I received his precious…_package_ and that it has been sent on to his requested final destination. Safely."

Her face glowed. "You will see me home?"

"I will see you to your ship," he corrected. "I have contacts in Marseilles. Friends. I'll see to it that you are protected."

She inhaled. "Thank you," she whispered.

"I will make arrangements for your departure today," Tommy added. He tapped his fingers pensively on the desk. "I must go and speak with my associates. I trust you will be comfortable in here whilst I do so?"

"Yes," she replied.

"I'll see that Ada brings you some tea and food. Please remain here. I will return shortly."

She nodded, visibly relaxing, and he made for the door. He paused next to her, then reached out to touch her chin gently, turning her face up to his. She looked up at him, surprised.

"I appreciate the trust our mutual friend has placed in me," he said quietly. "As well as going out of his way to warn me of what is to come, of Sabini's true intentions. I fully intend to uphold my end of this bargain. But I needn't tell you that it would be very bad of you to try to deceive me or deviate from this plan. Or do I?"

She blinked, her eyes going cool. "No. That will be unnecessary, Mr. Shelby. Mr. Solomons has no intention of betraying you, and neither do I. I only want to go home."

He nodded, and gently patted her cheek. "And you shall."

He left the office, quietly shutting the door behind him, deciding not to lock it. She wasn't a prisoner, after all; she was a guest, and someone he had to care for, whether he wanted to or not.

He went off to find his brothers, to tell them of the new tidings that had come. It seemed Sabini desperately wanted war. _Then it is war you shall get. _

Later that day, after making travel arrangements for Miss Hammersley, including the finest cabin available on the ship, Tommy took her to the train depot. Liverpool had the nearest port, so they travelled the eighty miles by train. Then he escorted her to the port where the ship was docked and waiting. Her eyes were wide and gleaming in the moonlight as she took it in.

He studied her carefully. "You're homesick."

"For years," she replied, and to his great surprise, her eyes filled with tears.

"Why do you cry then, Miss Hammersley?" he asked gently, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her.

"I'm happy," she said, dabbing her eyes. "I'm…happy."

He smiled faintly, watching as she quickly collected herself. "Have you enough money for food and such-like? Do you have the supplies that you need?"

They had stopped at a small shop that was about to close before arriving at the port so she could buy smallclothes and a few toiletry items. It wasn't much, but she seemed to be able to make do.

"I have all I need until I arrive in Marseilles," she replied softly.

He nodded. "You had better get on board, Miss Hammersley. A fine bed and a hot meal surely await you, and you can rest." He paused. "Will you send me a telegram when you arrive?"

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you, Mr. Shelby."

He smiled. "Don't thank me. I merely held up my part of the bargain." He took her hand and bent over it, pecking her knuckles with his lips. "I wish you well, Miss Hammersley. I will wait to hear from you. My friends have been alerted of your arrival. I wish you safe travels."

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby," she said quietly, and squeezed his fingers for a moment. "Will you – will you promise me –"

He tilted his head curiously. "Promise you what, Miss Hammersley?"

"Don't let anything happen to him," she blurted, her eyes wide and pleading. "If you can – please – don't let anything happen to him."

Tommy knew she wasn't talking about Sabini. So there was something between his Jewish friend and this lovely woman. He nodded. "You have my word. I will do what I can to keep him safe." _Unless he decides to betray me. In that case, I will put a bullet in his head. _He smiled comfortingly at her.

She nodded and turned, walking toward the ship. Tommy waited on the dock, hands in his pockets, while she boarded. He made sure she was safely aboard the ship before turning and heading back to the carriage. It was quite late, but he was anxious to get back to Birmingham, so he took a carriage back to the train depot. He could sleep then.

He added one more task to his list for Derby Day – assassination of his enemy, before his enemy could assassinate him.


End file.
